


Nightmare

by stucky



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bromance to Romance, Bucky Barnes - Freeform, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Captain America - Freeform, Clintasha - Freeform, Dorks in Love, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Marvel - Freeform, Night Terrors, Nightmare, Science Bros, Starbucks, Stucky - Freeform, otp, steve rogers - Freeform, winter soldier - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-16 12:41:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2270082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stucky/pseuds/stucky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After having another unbearable nightmare, Steve seeks the comfort of Bucky, the only person he think to turn to. He's the only person Steve wants to turn to. </p>
<p>This follows those nights they spend together, talking, laughing, crying, and falling in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Ghost of You

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first story on this particular website. So forgive me if I do something wrong or yanno whatever. This same story can also be found on FanFiction.net and will be on DeviantART also, with some of my Stucky fanart.
> 
> Every chapter of this fic will feature a song that I feel fits the ship Stucky in the most beautiful way. 
> 
> So yeah that's it I guess.

“I never said I’d lie and wait forever.  
If I died, we’d be together.  
I can’t always just forget him.  
But he could try.

At the end of the world,  
Or the last thing I see  
You are never coming home, never coming home.  
Could I? Should I?  
And all the things that you never, ever told me,  
And all the smiles that are ever, ever...”

* * *

The dream always fades in with just the color red.

Steve obtains consciousness to find himself in a darkened room. The feeling of the soreness all over his body, and the tightness of his uniform is surreal. As he looks down to inspect it, he panics at the sight of the Swastika upon his chest where the star is meant to be. His stripes are stained with blood and he suddenly feels the itchy dryness of old blood upon his free skin. The only color he can discern is red.

He then hears the call of his name. A man calls out the name Steve; not Captain America, but Steve. He’s aware this is a man he knows well, so he searches through the darkness. Suddenly a light appears: Bucky, surrounded by a circle of Nazi soldiers who are perpetually faceless. The only parts of their faces that are to be seen are their wicked grins. The grins of men who take pride in ending human life, and gaining power.

The Captain quickly rushes forward, toward Bucky. It’s his job to save those in need, using the power he has been given, and yet no matter how fast he runs, his friend remains the same distance away, tied up in ropes. When he finally feels he’s close enough, he begins to feel the rope burns around his own arms and chest. He can’t move; he’s tied tightly in the same rope that hold his dear friend taut. He curses himself; the Captain of America cannot even escape simple rope.

Finding that struggling is pointless, he looks up and suddenly Bucky is right in front of him. All at once the entire world bursts into brilliant colors: the cyan blue of Bucky’s eyes, which are now blackened plum purple and blood red by the repeated fists that had been pounding down upon him; the soft dark brown of Bucky’s hair, which is now matted down with the mahogany red of dried blood and the sandy brown of the dirt floor beneath them; and finally the soft pink of his skin, which was now streaked with blood and sweat. Steve’s eyes welled with tears, for seeing someone he found to be so beautiful in so much pain was more heart wrenching than anything he has ever felt.  
And to make the pain worse, Bucky coughs up a bit of blood, spitting it onto the dirt floor before speaking to the Captain, “Why didn’t you catch me when I fell, Steve?” His voice thick with the sound of betrayal. Steve’s eyes widen, and the color of this life begins to fade.

“Why didn’t you save me? You could have caught me before I fell off that train. Now look at what you’ve done to me.” Nazis begin to crowd Bucky, grabbing hold of his short brown hair. Another takes hold of Bucky’s left shoulder, his grip so tight Steve hears the faint tear of fabric. All the while, the tortured Sergeant holds contact with his Captain.  
“I thought we were in this together.” Bucky swallows hard, restraining tears.

“Bucky,” Steve pleads, not able to handle the words he knows are going to come next. He feels tears wash through the dried blood upon his cheek and he clenches his jaw, “Bucky, don’t.” His voice breaks.

“I thought you were with me till the end of the line.”

All color is gone. Before Steve can think, he screams and launches his body towards Bucky’s. Restrained by rope, he falls, his chin hitting the ground hard, but not before he hears the deafening crack of a shoulder being dislocated. Buck’s screams echo through Steve’s ears as he tries to focus on what he sees.  
He hears himself calling Bucky’s name, and yet Bucky is disappearing. Before the Captain’s very eyes, the Sergeant’s knees begin to sink through the ground, as if it were water. Steve struggles against the rope, as the horrific realization that he is letting Bucky die again hits him. Bucky’s torso is through the ground now. Steve begs the enemy to release his rope and yet they are all gone. He never stops trying, but Bucky’s neck is disappearing now, about to go under.

“Bucky, no!” Steve shouts. Suddenly everything freezes, and Bucky stops sinking. As Steve looks into his best friend’s eyes, the blue color begins to return, “I can save you,” he whispers.

“It’s already too late.” Bucky replies, quickly disappearing through the floor.

* * *

 

“...Ever get the feeling that you’re never

All alone and I remember now  
At the top of my lungs in my arms he dies  
He dies.”

* * *

"No!" Steve shouts as he sits up in his bedroom. He frantically searches the room and is relieved everything is in color again. Bucky wasn’t dead, he knew that, and yet each night he relives his death he awakens drenched in sweat, never able to shake the sick feeling in his stomach. But he lays back down on his bed anyway, checking the time: 1:09 a.m., even earlier than the night before. Each night Steve is forced to re-experience Bucky’s death, in a number of different ways, the earlier he wakes up. The sick feeling doesn’t help either. He turns onto his left side, and closes his eyes. No good. He flips to his right side and closes his eyes tighter. Still no good. The nausea is only going to persist if he keeps tossing and turning, so he carefully sits up. Maybe tonight should be the night, the night he talks to Bucky.

No, Steve thinks to himself, your so-called “need” to speak to Bucky is more than a dream discussion, and you know it. The thought of waking Bucky in the middle of the night is simply unthinkable. As if his problems were ever more important than Bucky’s needs. Ever since the Avengers found Bucky, it has been nothing but help to heal and guide Bucky into joining society again. Steve’s aberrant thoughts were zero priority, and yet he found Bucky gravitating to him more than any other Avenger. But this is only because Steve is the only one with shared life experience so it would only make sense that Bucky be most comfortable with him.

Not that it mattered. As far as Steve was concerned, any feelings he has for anyone are rather pointless, as he never seems to do anything right. He was seventy years late for a date with a woman he wasn’t sure he had truly loved. He was always about finding the right _partner_ to dance with, but was Peggy the one?  
He is ashamed to even think such a thought, especially since the one name that usually came to mind when Steve thought of his partner was certainly not a woman’s name. In fact, it is the only person he wants to be with right now, and the thought that perhaps in another universe that person might want him right now too causes Steve to leap from his bed and toss the sheets aside.

“Screw it,” he says to himself, “I need to find Bucky.” He grips the door knob of his bedroom, hesitating for a moment, then silently opens the door, entering the dark hallway. Since finding Bucky, the Avengers found it best to live collectively, all around each other in order to help Bucky learn how to live comfortably, and get used to being around people. Tony had the team move into the Avengers’ Towers, which provided everyone with communal living rooms, kitchen, bathroom, etc. and their own personal bedrooms. Except Steve and Bucky were the only two that actually slept alone, never bothering to ask who was where the night before. Now Steve could join the club. Well...not precisely the same club as everyone else, but one where he won’t have to face another night alone.

He finally makes his way to Bucky’s bedroom door, which only has one characteristic marking it as his: a red star sticker placed in the top center by Steve. That was when they had first moved him in, and also the last time Steve had been in or around Bucky’s bedroom. Steve’s nausea hasn’t subsided, but he felt his stomach shift. It went from sickening fear to sickening nervousness. So it’s reasonable when he hesitates to knock. He holds his fist up, but is terrified of actually knocking, fearing he would wake the Winter Soldier, and not Bucky Barnes. He instead takes a deep breath through his nose and holds it, clenching his jaw. He is about to knock when he hears a voice.

“It’s open.”

Steve immediately lets out the breath he is holding, washed over in relief, then adrenaline. How did Bucky know he was there? The Captain almost throws up.  
He slowly lowers his hand to the knob and opens the door a crack.

“Bucky?” Steve whispers, peeking into the dark room. He sees Bucky sitting on his bed, the sheets covering just his legs, his metal arm still on, and his hair in a ponytail. His window had the blinds drawn, allowing the city lights to paint the room with a faint white-yellow glow. It shone on his metal arm in just the right way, casting a glow upon Bucky’s scruffy face.

_How can one human being be so beautiful?_

“Yeah?” Bucky calls, breaking Steve’s trance.

“I, uh…” Steve struggled to speak, “I had a…nightmare.” he swallows, immediately regretting his decision to come here. It was as if he were a child, a child who couldn’t get over a stupid dream without crying about it to someone about it. Someone he cares more about than they do for him.

And yet he searches for a welcoming response in Bucky’s face, feeling overwhelmingly pleased when Bucky smiles and tells him to come right in.  
Steve squeezes his body through the small crack in the door and gently closes it, tiptoeing to the bed. Bucky pulls his knees to his chest, allowing Steve ample space to sit at the foot of the bed. He chose to sit on the very edge, still facing the door rather than Bucky, in case the nausea persisted in a negative manner. Although as of now, it starts to feel more like butterflies.

The nervous Captain plays with his hands as he stares at the floor, neither knowing where to begin, nor why his heart is so pounding hard, so loudly in his ears. In that moment he was thankful for the dim lighting, for he was sure his blush would show. It wasn’t just being in Bucky’s bedroom so late at night, or that Bucky welcomed him in with a smile that was making Steve blush. It was that Bucky wore no shirt, while Steve always sported a tank and boxers when he slept. He felt absolutely ridiculous, perverted even, by feeling so giddy about it, but he could not help himself.

“So, you had a nightmare?” Bucky asks dryly.

“Yeah,” Steve replies, fiddling with his hands more harshly now; he can feel the awkwardness settling in, unwanted and unwelcome.

“Do you, uh, wanna talk about it?” Bucky asks slowly. Steve sneaks a peek at him, “Did I do that right?” Bucky speaks more quickly.

Steve smiles, “Yes, exactly right.” It’s been most difficult getting Bucky to become accustomed to maintaining conversation and relationships. He often speaks with no emotion, nor will bother to show any of it. All of the Avengers have been aiding him in this sense, insisting expression and social conventions were an important part of life.

“Well, talk about it,” Bucky orders, rather impatiently.

“Alright, Buck,” Steve smiles a bit wider. It disappears as he takes a deep breath, “It was about the war. About you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, I, uh. I have them every night actually. It’s always about your death, and how I couldn’t save you and how I still can’t.” Steve looks back down at the floor; he can’t face Bucky, fearing that he’s going to look at his best friend and the color is going to fade away again.

“You always tell me,” Steve continues, “I should have been able to save you. And you’re right, I should have been able to catch you from falling off that train.”

“No,” Bucky says suddenly. Steve looks at him; he can see Bucky’s breathing is becoming uneven, his eyes frantically searching for Steve’s, “I chose to join the army. I wanted to follow you. I fell from that train, but I survived.” The Sergeant’s voice is a bit louder than Steve would have anticipated.

“And now you can barely remember your life because of me.” Steve chooses to keep his voice low, “Because of me,” Steve pauses, “Hydra has wiped away your life, your memories. _Everything_.”

“You blame yourself for that?” Bucky asks, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Of course I do!” the Captain says weakly, “How could I not? I’m _Captain America_. The point of my existence as a hero is to save people and I couldn’t even save one of the most important people in my life.” Steve’s voice fades a bit in the last part of his sentence, “You went through hell and back, because of me. I should have sent you home when I found you in the first place. You shouldn’t have come on those last missions with me.”

“You know I wouldn’t have backed down. I don’t remember much, but I do remember that I would have never left your side, especially if it came to a fight,” Bucky leans down to find Steve’s eyes so he’d look at him, “‘M with you ‘til the end of the line, pal.” Bucky forces a weak smile.

Steve’s stomach flips inside him and his nausea feels more threatening. He smiles, and shifts his right leg onto the bed as to start and face Bucky more than before. The good feeling is ephemeral, however. The Captain can’t let go of the idea of his nightmare, “But the dreams…” he finds himself saying, “I keep reliving not being able to save you. You’re being tortured, or you’re falling off the train again or you’re-”

“Steve, you did save me.” Bucky cuts him off.

“What’re’ you-”

“You saved me from Hydra. From the Winter Soldier. The moment you said my name on the bridge, that alone began triggering memories. Memories of you and I back in Brooklyn as kids. For so many years I was just a ghost, and just you saying my name helped bring me back to life. I don’t know about you, but that sounds like a rescue to me.” Bucky folds his arms and smiles at Steve, who can’t help but smile back.

“I guess you’ve got me there.”

“It’s not going to help though, is it?” Bucky’s tone changed completely. When Steve looks at Bucky, the Sergeant is focused on the buildings outside his window. The Captain studies his profile; the way Buck’s hair doesn’t all fit into the small ponytail, yet the loose hair frames his face perfectly. The way his nose is perfectly curved, down to his lips...and his chin that juts out just enough for a thumb and forefinger to hold it.

“It’s not going help,” Steve thinks aloud, trying to divert himself from focusing so much on Bucky’s face. Words from Bucky won’t help, but actions from Bucky would. It’s a ridiculous notion that Steve could ever think his dear friend would be willing to help him in the manner he needs--no, wants--so he has to let the idea go. Though the tone in which Steve has said it wouldn’t help, a small part of him hoped Bucky would understand the subtext of his sentence. Wanting Bucky to have heard, “It’s not going help, but maybe something else would…” He obviously didn’t.

“I don’t sleep anymore,” Bucky says quietly.

“Whaddya mean you don’t sleep?” Steve asked, genuinely confused. Even Bucky can’t go this long without some shut-eye.

“I don’t...I can’t really sleep. I take naps sort’ve. But most of the night I just, sit here,” Buck is still focused on the buildings outside, “The nightmares are far too intense. If I sleep in shifts, I won’t remember them very well. Except sometimes when I wake up I just _remember_.” The Sergeant involuntarily frowns. He takes a deep breath, “I just remember being the ghost no one would ever catch.”

* * *

“At the end of the world,

Or the last thing I see  
You are never coming home  
Never coming home.  
Could I? Should I?  
And all the things that you never ever told me  
And all the the smiles that are ever gonna haunt me  
Never coming home  
Never coming home  
Could I? Should I?  
And all the wounds that are ever gonna scar me  
For all the ghosts that are never gonna catch me.”

* * *

Bucky’s mouth won’t stop quivering, won’t stop tugging down into a frown. He swallows hard, clenching his jaw, and glaring at the buildings outside his window. His metal hand rests on his right bicep. The longer he stays silent, the harder he digs the metal fingers into his flesh. The Captain can see his skin turning white beneath the pressure of the Sergeant’s grip.

“Buck…” Steve says quietly, leaning forward extending a hand.

“Don’t touch me,” Bucky hisses, his arms up defensively. He shifts as far away from Steve as possible, positioning his knees protectively in front of his chest.  
The nausea is back, and more threatening than ever. Steve feels his throat tighten, the sting of that small rejection nagging his entire body. He moves both his legs onto the bed and pulls his own knees to his chest. Facing the door again, Steve rests his chin on his knees, somewhat like a child who had just been told no. Although he felt this way, he hoped Bucky wouldn’t see it that way.

“Sorry Bucky. I just...I want to help.” Steve whispers.

“You can’t.” He mumbles, “Just like you and your nightmares. Nothing is going to help and nothing ever will, right? So what’s the point in trying anymore?”

“You know that’s not true.” Steve tries.

“Why? You said it yourself, ‘It’s not going to help.’ Me telling you how it is isn’t going to help you and me crying about my inability to sleep without having night terrors isn’t going to make them go away.”

“Sometimes talking about it helps,” Steve says hopefully.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well sometimes that’s all you ne-”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” He repeats, practically shouting.

“Alright,” Steve raises his voice, facing Bucky again, arms up, as if the gesture will help, “Alright,” he says again softly, “We won’t talk about it.”

Bucky relaxes slightly, letting his knees fall into a sitting position. He still keeps his jaw rigid, however, and still digs his fingers into whatever they’re on.  
“I’m sorry,” Steve adds gingerly. Bucky remains reticent for a while. Steve complies to the silent wish for it to be quiet by keeping his mouth shut as well.  
The two soldiers stew in their own thoughts for several minutes, occasionally fidgeting and sighing. Steve folds one leg beneath the other, his right elbow on the folded knee with his forehead resting in his hand. Bucky leans back into his pillow and stares pensively at the ceiling, sporadically running his fingers through his loose hair. Each time he does so, Steve takes a chance to stare while Buck’s eyes are covered. Although he’s sure the soldier notices his head whip back to it’s original position in his now sweaty palms.  
The silence isn’t uncomfortable, but Bucky’s insistence on never breaking it is what makes Steve anxious. He switches palms, using the other freed hand to tap his fingers on the bed.

Eventually Bucky relaxes at full length, pushing Steve nearly off the bed with his feet. The Captain looks at the Sergeant upon feeling the touch. He raises an eyebrow, wondering if he was meant to fall of the bed, or it was a simple accidental tap. As if reading Steve’s mind, Bucky decides that yes, he was meant to fall off the bed. With a swift kick of his leg, he pushes his friend onto the floor. Landing with a thud, the Captain looks up at his counterpart. Buck smiles.

“Jerk!” Steve says, fighting a grin.

“Punk,” Bucky replies, folding his arms with a satisfied smirk. Steve props himself on the side of the bed, giving the Sergeant a look. They both laugh after a moment.

“That actually made me feel kind of better.” Bucky admits.

“Like I said, you’re a jerk.”

Bucky extends his left arm as to pull Steve back onto the bed, “Sorry I don’t know really what came over me. Thought it would be funny.” Bucky smirks again, “It _was_ funny.”

“Yeah, yeah, Buck. You never liked me being pushed around by bullies, but you always found joy and pushing me around.” Steve continues to smile as he speaks, letting Bucky know he’s not being entirely serious.

“‘Course ‘cause no ones’ allowed to push you around ‘cept me.” Steve observes the fact that Bucky tends to slur a bit when he’s tired, and he finds this to be rather cute, despite himself.

“Back at you, pal,” he replies. Steve then lies on his back at the foot of the bed, folding his arms behind his head. He lets his legs dangle off the side, able to touch the floor with his feet. Staring at the ceiling, Steve feels a surge of contentedness welling inside him. This feeling of pure enjoyment from being in Bucky’s presence. An old, yet familiar feeling.

He sighs.

“It’s kind of like the good old days.”

“What is?” Bucky asks.

“This. I don’t know if you remember. We used to hang around like this all the time. Before the war. Do you remember?” Steve glances at Bucky who is looking rather distressed. He quickly adds, “It’s okay if you don’t. I didn’t mean--”

“No, no.” Bucky’s words leave his mouth rather rapidly, “I remember. Sort’ve. Well, I mean. Did we talk about girls?”

* * *

 

“If I fall  
If I fall (down).

At the end of the world,  
Or the last thing I see.  
You are  
Never coming home  
Never coming home  
Never coming home  
Never coming home  
And all the things that you never ever told me  
And all the smiles that are ever gonna haunt me  
Never coming home  
Never coming  
Could I? Should I?”

* * *

 

“Yes, we talked about dames. Actually _you_ talked about dames. All the plans you had to get me a girl. ‘Course, I never liked,” he pauses, “I mean, I never was good at talking to the...to the gals.” Steve does his best to keep a light humor to his tone, however it’s difficult to pretend the reason you can’t talk to girls is because of shyness, and not because you find men to have much more appeal. Particularly one man.

“What about Peggy?” Buck asks softly. Steve arches an eyebrow, “Agent Carter? Yeah I guess I did have a good shot with her. She kissed me, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“Right before I crashed a plane into the Arctic.”

Bucky shoves Steve’s shoulder with his foot, “Idiot,” he mumbles.

“I had a date with her the following Saturday, too. To go dancing.”

“You never wanted to dance before.” Bucky points out.

“Not until I met her.” Steve’s breath catches a bit, but he quickly gets it under control, “I don’t know she just. She actually liked me, y’know? Before the serum I mean. She’d actually talk to me and she believed in me. And then I went and crashed a plane into the Arctic, like, well you said it, like an idiot...It’s not like she didn’t know I didn’t have a choice.” Steve sneaks a peek at Bucky. Bucky is looking out the window again, biting his thumbnail. He continues on, helplessly rambling, “She knew it’s what I had to do. But the next thing I knew I was waking up seventy years late for a date.” He laughs ironically, “She was my best gal. Always will be.”

“Christ, Steve.” Buck says under his breath.

“What?” Steve furrows his eyebrows, looking at the Sergeant.

“What?” Bucky’s head swivels over to look at Steve, puzzled.

“Did you say something?”

“I didn’t say anything. You’re talking so much, prob’ly just heard yourself.” Bucky shrugs, completely snapped out of the trance he was just in. Was Steve detecting a hint of jealousy from Bucky?

As soon as the Captain even considers this, his rational side comes crashing down on him. How he could he possibly think Bucky would ever be jealous of Peggy? And why did he hope that he speaking of Peggy _would_ make Bucky jealous? Had he honestly spoken of her to get a rise out of Bucky? _How dare you_ , Steve thinks to himself, _Shameful. Despicable human being._ To bring up Peggy, someone who had been a devoted partner by his side, just to attempt to make a man jealous. A man who probably hasn’t ever even thought of Steve in any way than more than a friend. A completely ridiculous and irrational notion in itself. Steve covers his face with his hands and tries not to scream.  
A few minutes of silence pass and Steve tries to regain control of his mind, shoving his negative thoughts away. It was a constant battle with himself, at least when it came to Bucky. Speaking to him, looking (staring) at him, being near him, in the same room as him, thinking of him. As much as Steve hated himself for being happy that Bucky was here now (given the circumstance for his existence in the present) he could not help himself. Anyone would be happy that their best friend is still alive, right? Technically speaking, it was rational to become excited by Bucky’s presence. But perhaps it was the wrong kind of excited.

“It’s 3:34. Do you want to sleep?” Bucky’s rasped and exhausted voice breaks Steve’s train of thought.

“Not really,” he answers honestly, “Don’t you though?”

“Yeah, but ‘m afraid to.”

Steve sighs. Despite his mind constantly telling him no, he denies that command and tells himself yes, just ask, “Do you think if you had someone in the room with you, you might sleep better?”

Bucky chews at his lip. Steve closes his eyes not even daring to let his mind go there.

“You mean, like you stay in the room with me while I sleep?”

“More or less.”

The Sergeant ponders this for a moment. The Captain is trying not to over think his boldness in his past few sentences.

“I think I’ll be okay.” Bucky says slowly just as Steve’s heart sinks quickly, “I’ll sleep ‘til six.”

“Alright, Buck,” Steve quickly gets up off the bed. He looks over his shoulder at Bucky, “See you in a few hours.”

He crosses the room, trying to fight the nausea that has returned, hoping his doesn’t throw up before he has a chance to exit the room. He grips the door handle but is stopped by the voice behind him, “Hey Steve?”

He released the handle, and turns to face his dear friend, “Yeah James?”

The two are both taken aback by the use of Barnes’ first name.  
“Come back tomorrow night? I...it kinda does help talking to someone, in between sleeping.” Bucky has already settled down beneath the sheets and on his pillow.

“Of course, pal.” He tries to suppress the mad grin begging to form upon his face.

“Night Steve.” Bucky yawns.

“Good night.” Steve quietly leaves Buck’s room, making sure to softly shut the door. He speed walks back to his room, and lands face down onto his bed, trying not become too ecstatic. But how could he not? He was going back tomorrow night. And hopefully for many more nights.

Regardless of all the negative thoughts that constantly bounce around Steve’s head, he couldn’t help but be happy about finally getting to spend time with his best friend. All these months have passed, with the two never ever really truly getting to connect again, to spend time together. It seemed as if the scars would never heal, and Bucky would be a ghost forever, a deeply concerning thought that always loomed in the back of the Captain’s mind. That all changed tonight. Steve felt something well inside his chest, originating from the pit of his stomach. He felt his heart flutter and his cheeks flush. His rational side knew he was being far too beatific, but he just couldn’t care.  
Steve turned over to lay on his back. Running his fingers through his hair, he felt the feeling of exhaustion hit him like a ton of bricks. The Captain pulled his blankets over him, switching positions to lay on his side. He closed his eyes and found sleep came quite easily tonight.

He couldn’t remember his nightmares when he woke up.

* * *

 

“And for all the wounds that are ever gonna scar me.  
For all the ghosts that are never gonna…”


	2. By Your Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're pretending for the sake of this that Tony made it possible for Bucky to detach his arm. 
> 
> Song for this chapter: By Your Side by Beachwood Sparks

“You think I’d leave your side, baby

You know me better than that

You think I’d leave you down when you’re down on your knees

I wouldn’t do that.

 

‘Cause I’ll tell you’re right when you want

And if only you could see into me.”

 

* * *

  
Steve dresses himself in a black tank and gray striped, loose-fitting boxers. His cheeks flush on why he specifically choose the baggiest boxers he owns to wear tonight. Running his fingers through his hair, he views himself in a full body mirror positioned on his bedroom wall. He tugs at the bottom of his shirt, wondering if it should overlap his boxers, or just set above.  Frustrated about not knowing which way looks better, and why he even cared, he leaves it be. Striding to his bed, Steve leans forward, landing face first on his pillow. When was he supposed to go to Bucky’s room?

By now, Tony and Bruce have left to work on some project -- they talk about how wonderful this project is constantly and that they can’t wait to get back to it, yet they never reveal any results of said project; Steve assumes it’s something too advanced for his early twentieth century mind to understand and thinks nothing of it -- and Natasha has snuck off into Clint’s room. This always gives Steve a good chuckle: Nat makes it quite obvious where she is going, despite the fact that she tries to hide it. One of the greatest assassins in the entire world can’t even be discreet about her own relationship.

Steve reminisces about one of the more recent times he caught her leaving her bedroom late at night. He had been working out after hours and was just getting to bed. Bumping into Nat in the hallway, he asked her where she was going. She merely fumbled a sentence out that was something along the lines of, “I was, I had to go to, I was just getting a midnight snack.” Steve remembered arching an eyebrow at her, sure that had the lighting been better, her cheeks would have been bright pink, if not completely red. The darkened hallway could not, however, hide the fact that she wasn’t wearing much. If Steve preferred her, he would have been stumbling across a reply, but he easily said alright and continued walking past her. No doubt, Natasha was very attractive, but wasn't Steve's type. A few minutes later he heard her shut Clint’s door and start talking to the archer. Steve remembered briefly wondering if Nat thought _everyone_ was impaired of hearing, not just Clint.

Funny how while the world saw the Avengers as a fearless group of perfect warriors. While that could hold truth, they were regular people. Granted, they share life experience unlike most, they're still human beings that feel emotions, like everyone else. Natasha has a difficult time with trust, but she still tries to maintain a romantic relationship with Clint. She even has been trying to be a friend to the rest of them. She's not the best at it, but is improving. Clint hasn't had the easiest life, but still knows how to have a good time, and can keep a smile on his face. And much like most grown men, he doesn't enjoy listening. That or he's just plain forgetful and never turns his aids on. Steve was never entirely sure what it was, and anytime he asked, Clint never heard him.

Then there's Tony and Bruce. Two peas in pod; both geniuses but dangerous. Tony was the perfect asshat and Bruce was a gentle giant, as much as he tries. They seem to work well together regardless of it all. Often disagreements occur but that never stops the two from collaborating at night. Steve enjoyed their company as friends, but could never get up to speed with all the scientific and medical jargon. He also didn't appreciate Tony's never ending sassiness, but as he's been thinking: Tony isn't perfect. None of them were. They were people. It's exhausting being a hero all the time. The peaceful times like this gave them all a chance just to be. The Captain often relishes in this relaxation, especially since he's spending it with Bucky. He does wish Sam would visit more often though.

Glancing at his clock, he noted it was only 11. He is suddenly curious as to how Bucky worked out his sleeping schedule. The Captain felt rather tired himself, but he disregarded this, however, because he didn’t want to go to sleep in case he slept longer than normal. It was quite the experience not waking up screaming or in a sweat last night. Never in all the years Captain America has been an Avenger had he gotten a single good night of sleep. The struggle of sleeping had been so difficult and surreal it was abnormal to feel well rested. All this time Steve had relied on the adrenaline of petrifying situations to keep him awake enough to chose fight instead of flight. It was as if feeling good was wrong, and feeling this nagging sense of exhaustion and sadness was just how it was. How it would always be. Perhaps Steve _should_ be seeing the shrink Nat told him to see. Or...was it a shrink? Honestly whenever Nat told him to see anyone, it was usually a woman for a date, which he always vehemently denies. Besides, no therapist could help him because even _they_ couldn’t understand that kind of life experience. Growing up in the 20s and 30s, fighting a war in the early 40s, and picking up again in 2011? No one would understand, except Bucky.

After some time passes, lying in the darkness, Steve decides to go to Bucky’s room. He figured since Bucky asked him to come back, he wouldn’t be pissed if Steve woke him up, right? Finding the red-starred door, he wastes no time softly knocking, “Bucky? You awake?”

“Yeah.” the Sergeant calls.

Containing his excitement, Steve opens the door, finding Bucky the same way he had the night before, except this time Buck didn’t wear a ponytail, and he did not cover himself with sheets. Nope, just tight gray boxers and nothing else. Steve pretends to itch his nose so he doesn’t have to look, shutting the door behind him.

“I didn’t know if you were gonna come.” Bucky says, watching Steve as he sits at the end of the bed,

“Oh c’mon you know me better than that.”

“Well I’m glad you’re here.” Bucky forces a small smile.

“Me too.” Steve says to himself.

“Did you sleep well?” Bucky asks casually.

“I actually did, for once.”

“You slept in later than you normally do,” Bucky observes.

“Yeah and I didn’t remember any nightmares either.” Steve tries not sound too enthusiastic, in case Bucky hasn’t had the same good fortune.

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Bucky asks, apparently picking up on the doubt in Steve’s voice.

“Of course it is.” He confirms, “Did you sleep well?” he moves on.

“No.”

“Oh.”

“I had nightmare.” Bucky takes a deep breath and slides his metal hand up his right shoulder, “About you.” He continues his hand down his arm, Steve watching every curve the hand passes over. He briefly wonders if Bucky is feeling warm, since he has no blankets or sheets covering him, and if the cool metal feels good on his skin.

“Wanna tell me about it?” The Captain asks mildly. To his astonishment, the Sergeant nods yes. He waits patiently for Bucky to gather his thoughts, knowing it has always been a rather difficult task ever since he had joined the Avengers.

“I was the Winter Soldier,” Bucky takes a deep breath, “and I was pursuing the mission of having to kill you. Except, you…” Steve nods to let Buck know to keep going, “You were _fighting back._ Like _you_ couldn’t remember. But _I_ could. I was attacking you, yet I knew fully that you were the same Steve Rogers I had known since way before the forties. And you were just fighting back like I was any other bad guy you’ve ever come across. You kept referring to me as the ghost the world needed to be ridden of. Every time I saw your eyes, I saw nothing.” Steve notices Bucky has withdrawn his metal hand from his body, and has pulled part of a sheets over his feet. All the while, he’s trying not to let Bucky’s retelling of the dream get to him. After all, he’s supposed to be the emotionally stable one right now. If only the idea of that wasn’t so ironic.

 

* * *

 

“Oh, when you’re cold, I’ll be there

Hold you tight to me.

 

When you’re on the outside, baby and you can’t get in,

I will show you, you’re so much better than you know

When you’re lost, when you’re alone, and you can’t get back again

I will find you, darling, and I’ll bring you home.”

 

* * *

 

 

“It felt like it went on for so much longer than the short few hours I slept.  It was a never ending fight of me trying to make you remember. It was like _I_ was Captain America and _you_ were the Winter Soldier. And honestly,” Bucky pauses to close his eyes and breathe, “It was terrifying. You’re _supposed_ to remember me. The fact that my mind forced me to imagine the idea that even with you here now still left me all alone…” he grits his teeth, “I’ve been thinking about it all day, since I haven’t seen you.” Bucky swallowed then forced another smile, “Idiot me sometimes thinks my nightmares are real. And I felt like you actually wouldn’t remember me, or remember to come here tonight,” Bucky buries his face in his hands, “It’s stupid, I know.”

Steve covers his mouth with his hand thoughtfully. He isn’t sure what to say, or even do. He can’t hug him or hold him, as that may indicate an attraction. Does he pat him on the shoulder? No, that wouldn’t work given their positions on the bed. He can’t comfort him with caring or loving words, as that might also indicate attraction. He begins to panic; if he doesn’t say something quick, Bucky might think he either wasn’t listening or really can’t be there for him like he needs to be. Could he? Steve decides to go with his first instinct.

“I’m sorry,” _idiot_  “I assure you I remember though,” _stupid idiot_ , “It’s just,” he sighs, “I’m not really sure what to say. I mean, it's not stupid...okay--”

“Steve, it’s fine. I do understand that sometimes talking about things makes you feel better, even if you don’t have anything to say. All I needed was to say it outloud, I guess. You being here is proof it wasn’t real. I just wish I didn’t have to imagine it was in my sleep.”

Steve lets out breath he had been holding, and decides to lay down on the bed, letting his legs dangle off the side. He has an ephemeral image of when he used to do this and his feet couldn’t touch the floor like they could now.

“You’re not just bad at talking to dames, you can’t talk to anyone.” Bucky suddenly says, a smile creeping on his face.

Steve laughs a bit, “Yep.” Again, the sense of irony settling on him. Steve just couldn’t talk to people he specifically found attractive. Gender wasn't a factor. His immediate reaction would have been to point out that he can literally talk to every Avenger, even Natasha, except Bucky. Unfortunately, that was far too obvious. And yet how could the Sergeant miss that?

Steve notices Bucky rubbing his metal hand on his right arm again. This time he runs it up his shoulder and onto his chest, then on his neck. Bucky leans his head back on the headboard of his bed. After doing so he slides his hand through his long hair. Steve chews on his lip, quickly diverting his attention to the far less enticing white ceiling overhead. How could the effortless motion of someone idly trailing a hand on their own body be so goddamn attractive? Spending time with Bucky was really testing Steve’s self control. He had to concentrate hard on not becoming the previous adjective. _God, you’re a degenerate._ Steve runs a hand through his hair and then latches on to it, trying not to pull it out. He decides topic needs to change, and as much as he hates to bring it back up, he is genuinely curious, “What are your nightmares usually about?”

Bucky’s hand stops moving, which had been making its way down his neck again. He rubs it instead, contemplating, “Mostly being the Winter Soldier, but failing as such. Sometimes they’re about you. Rarely ever about the war, but I’ll still get them from time to time. Those leave me feeling a little good, actually, because it means I remember something about my past life.”

_Sometimes they’re about you._

“Sometimes they’re about you during the war. I’ve only had a few of those since I don’t really remember. I had one once, that actually wasn’t bad. You were in your Captain America suit performing some kind of show on a stage?”

Although he couldn’t help it, Steve immediately laughs. He sighs contently, “Yeah that was definitely a memory. I did that before I actually became the kind of Captain that took action. I was more like Captain Propaganda.”

The Sergeant nods, convinced, “That makes more sense now.”

Caught up in the moment, Steve asks, “Do you have other good dreams about me?”

Bucky shakes his head, “No,” he says a little sadly, “Just ones about us killing the other. The worst ones are when you try to kill me. That just means everything is way more out of control than they should be, and my whole world is more upside down than it already is. Those are the days you probably notice I avoid you.”

“You avoid me?” Steve asks. He had never noticed intentional avoidance. Truthfully, it felt as if Bucky _always_ avoided him.

“I figured you probably noticed. Since you ask the others about me.” Bucky speaks quietly, as if he’s talking to himself. All the same, Steve is very alarmed, “What do you mean?”

Much to the Captain’s surprise, the Sergeant leans forward, “I know _all_ the shit you talk about me behind my back, Rogers.”

“Is your dark tone supposed to be sarcasm?” Steve arches an eyebrow, starting to feel a sense of playfulness take over.

“You caught me,” Bucky replies, smiling. He settles down on his stomach, his face only inches away from Steves and his feet touching the wall. He folds his arm, his metal hand idly moving up and down his right bicep, “But you do ask Natalia about me a lot.”

“She tells you what I say about you?” Steve searches Buck’s face. Crap. How much had he rambled to her? Does she see it as a friend concerned or more than that? And why the hell was she blabbing anyway?

“Yeah, she says you always ask about me when we get back from missions.” Bucky watches as Steve turns his head away, placing a hand on his forehead. Jesus, what did he say to Nat? He couldn’t seem to remember, and Bucky was doing nothing to help in that sense. Always beating around the bush.

“Just stuff like if I got hurt and how I seemed to be doing.” Bucky adds rather quickly, as if sensing Steve’s mighty need to know what Nat has been revealing to the Sergeant.

"Oh, okay." Steve says quietly.

“I don’t know why you don’t just ask me.”

“I don’t know why either.” Steve takes a risk in saying that and turns his head back to look at Bucky. The Sergeant searches the Captain’s eyes, as if he has something else to say, perhaps an answer to the question of why, but he doesn’t speak. He merely holds eye contact for several seconds. Each second becomes less platonic, and more carnal. Or at least it felt that way. Steve knows he should have looked away by now, but can’t turn down the privilege to study every inch of Bucky’s face. He notes that Bucky’s hair tends to stray in front of his face, blocking his eyes; his eyes that are full of expression and glow a bright blue, even in low light. His nose is straight and, well, perfect. His lips full and -- _oh_ \-- Bucky licks his lips. Steve clenches his jaw, feeling himself beginning to lose control, but as quickly as it happens, Bucky is sitting up and leaning back on the headboard of his bed again. He folds his legs indian style, quickly running his left hand up his thigh and rests it on his stomach. Steve was thankful for his idea to wear baggy boxers, but thinks maybe they should _both_ wear more next time. It seemed that just staring at Bucky was far too erotic for him to handle.

“Don’t you ever wear pajamas?” Immediately as the words pass his lips, Steve wishes he could suck them back in. Now Bucky will know his lack of clothing bothers him in a specific way.

“Why? You don’t.” Bucky doesn’t miss a beat, however. Perhaps it wasn’t that obvious, yet Steve doesn’t understand how it couldn’t be.

“I do! I am right now!”

“Doesn’t count. You’re not wearing actual pajamas, just a shirt and boxers. Boxers that are far too big for you, by the way. Why’re you wearing those anyway?”

Steve panics slightly, trying to think quickly, “I, all my other ones are dirty.”

“And you actually sleep in those?”

“What the hell do you mean? Of course I do.”

“You _don’t_ sleep naked?”

The question caught Steve way off guard. His breathing stopped, his heart skipped, and a small noise escaped his throat. Bucky laughs, apparently assuming Steve was having the realization that he _could_ sleep naked. That wasn’t it at all. Steve was having the realization that _Bucky sleeps naked_ and could not stop picturing the image of such a thing.

“No, I don’t. You do, I take it?”

“‘Course I do. It’s one of the small freedoms I have now that I enjoy.” Bucky shrugs, folding his arms. He taps his right bicep.

“I can step to that. I just never do. I never really thought about it before.”

“Well now that you have, you should try it sometime.” _I’ll try it with you,_ “It’s pretty comfortable. Plus the sweats I wake up in aren’t so bad.” Right, because Bucky has nightmares, and the whole point of Steve’s presence was to cheer him up, not flirt. Were they even flirting? _Was_ this flirting? No, it couldn’t be. Flirting is a two-way street. But Bucky does seem to be enjoying himself, so this was cheering him up, yes? _Jesus, can’t you ever think a coherent thought?_

“Do you take off the arm, too?” Steve asked, half jokingly, half serious.

“Oh, yeah. Look.” The Sergeant reaches over and grips the metal arm at the shoulder. The Captain sits up on the bed to get a better view. He hears a click and the sound of air pressure being released. Then just like that the arm slides right off of Bucky’s skin. Well, it doesn't necessarily slide; it takes a bit of force to free the skin beneath the gripping metal. When it's completely off, Bucky holds it as if it were a bill he’d just got in the mail. He gingerly sets it on his night stand, like a person would a phone, looks at Steve and shrugs. Steve, on the other hand, has never seen Bucky without the arm on. He’s quite shocked.

 

* * *

 

“And if you want to cry

I am here to dry your eyes

And in time, you’ll be fine.

 

You think I’d leave your side, baby

You know me better than that

You think I’d leave you down, when you’re down on your knees

I wouldn’t do that.”

 

* * *

 

 

No, shocked isn’t quite right. He’s simply in awe.

There really isn’t anything there. Bucky has his entire shoulder and that’s about it. His arms rounds out just about a quarter of the way down where his bicep would be. There is scarring, but not as much as Steve pictured there would be. He supposed he’d expect some defining mark, but there wasn’t anything. Just a stump. Steve remembered seeing plenty of scarring on Bucky’s back. Most was from the fall he had suffered, but some were from members of Hydra punishing the Winter Soldier if he didn’t obey. There is also a considerable amount of scarring around where the edge of the arm was, probably from it being forced on or off, and from how forcefully the arm appeared to cling to his skin. Steve doesn’t beat himself up over staring; he felt that in this moment he was meant to, even if it seemed inappropriate. He, at the very least, wanted to let Bucky know that he wasn’t staring because it was freakish, disturbing, or because it made him feel uncomfortable; he stared because he thought, even with all of the scarring, Bucky looked more beautiful than ever. But he just couldn’t.

“I know it looks weird.” Bucky says, becoming flustered. He huffs as he quickly swipes the metal arm off his nightstand.

“No!” Steve says a little too quickly, “No, really, I mean--I’ve seen it all. This is nothing new, Buck, and it doesn’t make a difference to me that you look this way.” Perhaps he didn’t word that quite nicely. Bucky’s hand trembled as he holds the prosthetic limb.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. I meant that I accept you however you look. That’s not going to push me away. I’m your pal.” Steve studies him for a moment, “Breathe," he reminds.

The Sergeant sharply inhales. Breathing deeply once. Twice. He slowly slides the arm back on, sounding another click as it shifted into place. He rounded his shoulder a few times to make sure it felt comfortable. Steve noticed again how the skin around the arm looked strained, like it was being tugged. He also realized that the skin surrounding it always looked white.

“Is that tight?”

“Huh?” Bucky looks up from where he had been viewing the red star on his arm.

“I mean does it pull on your skin when you put it on? Does it hurt?”

Bucky looks at his shoulder again, then shrugs, “Not really. ‘M used to it.”

“Hmm,” Steve hums thoughtfully, subconsciously shifting closer to Bucky on the bed. It seems the movement causes Bucky to shift closer as well, however the Sergeant’s movement is deliberate: he pulls his knees to his chest and crosses his arms over them, gazing at Steve.

Steve cocks an eyebrow and smiles, “Can I touch it?”

Bucky half smiles, “Touch my arm?”

“Yeah, I mean, if it’s okay.”

“Okay? Do you not notice everyone poking and prodding at it all day?”

“I do, and that’s why I’m asking.”

“‘Course you can.” Steve shifts so he’s kneeling directly in front of Bucky. The Captain hesitantly raises his hand, recoiling slightly, “Jesus, Steve. I’m not gonna bite.” Steve reluctantly places his hand on the forearm. Bucky moves his right hand to his side and stretches his arm closer to Steve. The Captain feels every curve of the forearm, then the bicep. He traces the star with his finger. He glances at his friend as he does so. _Is Bucky’s breathing getting faster?_ Steve trails his hand back down to the Sergeant’s hand, feeling every knuckle. No glove. He feels the bump of where a wrist bone would be. He slides his long fingers over the forearm again. It's not smooth; there are slight bumps and divots from the arm's metal design. Yet when Bucky’s fingers twitch, he feels movement where the tendons would be. He’s dazzled by it.

“Huh. Just like a real arm.” he thinks aloud, beginning to smile about it, and the fact that Bucky’s hand seems to be trembling. _Am I making you nervous, Sergeant Barnes?_

“Yeah, you’re much more pleasant about it.” Bucky swallows, his eyes locked on where Steve’s hand is going, which is traveling back up his bicep, “Stark is constantly trying to get this off me.”

“He wants to make you a new one,” Steve explains, studying the expertly crafted muscles, “If you ever lose muscle, this is going to look so out of place.”

Bucky tries not to smile, “I think sometimes Stark wants to take it off just as prank. Did you know one time I woke up and there was a sticky note that said ‘cunt’ on my arm?”

Steve’s eyes slide over to meet Bucky’s. He bites his lip, but knows he can’t hold it in; he bursts to laughter, hitting his left breast as he falls back on the bed.

“It’s not funny!” Bucky nearly shouts.

“It’s hilarious!” Steve says between laughs. Bucky watches in disbelief, but can’t help that he wants to laugh too. He attempts to hold it back, but decides to let it out anyway. Steve looks up at him, a mad grin on his face, “When did that even happen?”

“It was a while ago. You were gone on a mission I think. I had been rather ornery all day and Stark pulled that shit on me. I nearly killed him. Natalia, Clint and Bruce had to hold me back. Nat threatened to confiscate my arm because I was going to beat Tony with it.”

Steve snickered, covering his hand with his mouth. Bucky shot him a glare, but was aware it was a rather amusing story.

“Can’t believe you didn’t hear about it. Natalia must have chosen to keep it secret. Shocking.”

Bucky was right. Had Steve known that had happened, he probably would have beaten Tony himself. By now it was water under the bridge, however, and one of the most hilarious things Steve had heard in a long time.

“Eh, Stark isn’t so bad.” Steve says, propping himself on his elbow, supporting his head in his hand. Bucky continues to sit with his knees pulled to his chest.

“Stark is an ass.” Bucky retorts, crossing his arms.

“Well, I guess I really can’t argue with that.” The Captain surrenders. He keeps smiling, biting his lip. Bucky shifts, moving his arms down to hold onto his ankles, sneaking a peek at Steve. When they make eye contact, Bucky’s lips curve to a smile.

“What?” Steve says.

“Nothing.” Bucky replies, looking away quickly, smile gone. The Captain’s grin fades as well. Just like that, the atmosphere changes. He suddenly feels a desperate need to fill it with conversation, but what now? Steve tousles his hair, trying to think of something, anything to say. Why was the silence so uncomfortable? It wasn’t before!  

 

* * *

 

 

“I’ll tell you’re right when you want

And if only you could see into me.

 

Oh, when you’re cold,

I’ll be there

Hold you tight to me

Oh, when you’re low

I’ll be there by your side.”

 

* * *

 

 

Luckily, Bucky breaks the silence, but with a completely out-of-the-blue question, “Have you been with anyone since you came back?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like have you been with a girl?”

For whatever reason, Steve feels offended by the question, but he doesn’t know which reason is why.

“No.” He answers flatly.

“Why?”

The word is so long and drawn out, even though it’s only composed of three simple letters. It hits the Captain like a ton of bricks.  He wants to chose his answer carefully but can’t stop himself, “No one has the same life experience.” _Except you._

“No girl can understand what’s it been like for me,” _but you can,_ “No one wants a person with so much baggage,” _but maybe you would,_ “And personally I don’t really want a girl, now,” _because I want you._

“I, um,” Bucky stutters, “I… get what you mean.”

“Why do you ask?” Steve asks, a rather bit defensive.

“I was just wondering. I could never imagine people not mobbing you, the way you look…” The Sergeant’s voice trails off.

“How do I look?” The Captain can’t seem to stop himself, even though he feels he really needs to button up. The irrational side of him has taken over and won’t relinquish control to his now frantic rational side.

“You know,” Bucky shrugs, furrowing his brows, “You look,” he makes gestures with his hands that appear to indicate wide set shoulders, “Big.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, you know. The whole muscle thing. How does anyone _not_ like that, y’know? Have you been asked out?”

Steve purses his lips, thinking. He shakes his head no.

“How?” Again, the small three letter word is long, and drawn out.

“Well I don’t get out much, for one, and for two I already said I don’t really want a woman right now,” _I want a man, and that man is you._

“What about Nat?” Bucky mutters. Doesn’t mean Steve doesn’t hear it.

“What the hell do you mean, ‘What about Nat’? She’s with Clint, and I don’t want her anyways.”

“Why?” The Sergeant persists again.

“Why do you care?” The Captain asks, rather angry. Jesus what was this? Twenty questions?

“Because you’re m’ friend and I thought friends were supposed to be interested in each other...’s lives and whatever. That’s what everyone has been trying to teach me! Am I doing it wrong?”

Steve frowned, suddenly realizing the error of his ways. He sits up and lightly places a hand on Bucky’s knee, the next best thing to caressing his face. The action was also less meaningful seeing as Buck had his knees pulled to his chest. At least, it felt less meaningful to Steve, “James, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean--Yes, you are right. It’s just, Nat has given me a lot of shit about it recently and I’m sick of her trying to force me to get a girlfriend. I guess I just pushed that frustration onto you. I'm sorry." He repeats "I’m just not ready for a girl right now.”

“Because no girl has the same life experience,” Bucky states it as to obtain confirmation.

“Right.” the Captain nods once, recoiling his hand from the Sergeant’s knee. He leans back, sighing. Bucky sighs as well. Steve sensed he had more to say but was holding it all inside.

Rationally speaking, Bucky probably had no more to say, and wasn’t implying anything. Yet, Steve’s irrational spokesman was insistent that he should keep reading between the lines, because there was definitely a lot more juicy contents residing within Bucky’s sentences. At this point, Steve was becoming too exhausted trying to fight it, and let it go. He’s already said far too many things he regrets to try to do anything about it now. Although, the nagging feeling that Bucky was hiding aspects of himself would never go away. Steve knew that for sure.  

“What time is it?” He asks softly.

Bucky glances at an digital clock on his nightstand, “1:56”

“Already?” Steve is surprised by the amount of time that’s already passed.

“Yeah. Why are you tired?”

“I don’t know. Kind of.” Steve tugs at the straps of his shirt, thinking again about the nude sleeping conversation.

“‘M not.” He was, “But I’ll try ‘n sleep if you decide to go.”

“I won’t go, because I know the longer you sleep, the worse the nightmares are for you.” Steve tries to catch Bucky’s eyes. When he does, he holds the gaze. The stare is long enough where it stops feeling plutonic again. Steve’s heart becomes erratic. He licks his lips. Bucky mirrors the action. Steve sharply the inhales, and Bucky breaks the gaze, “Well thanks,” the Sergeant mumbles.

“Hey, it’s no problem.” Steve reassures.

Silence makes itself palpable in the darkened bedroom again, however this time it’s comfortable. Sounds of the city become evident in the absence of speaking; Steve hears cars whiz on by and others beeping horns in reaction. He lays down, letting his legs dangle, and slides his eyes shut, listening. He focuses on every small noise. Eventually he can make out Bucky’s breathing. It’s somewhat staggered. The Captain sneaks a peak with one eye open: Bucky positioned a pillow behind his head and is staring out his window pensively. His flesh hand is idly fiddling with a piece of hair while his metal hand rests on his collar bone. Steve wonders what the Sergeant is thinking about. Was he thinking of what was going on outside that window? Was he remembering something? Bad? Good? _Is he thinking of me?_ The Captain wants to ask, but doesn’t for he didn’t want to hear any answer other than the one he knew he would never get.

He instead takes the opportunity to study Bucky’s form, pick out the things he loves most. For instance, he loves the faraway look in Bucky’s eyes. Often times he’d catch Bucky staring out into space somewhere. This has been happening ever since the Avengers took Bucky under their wing. The Captain always liked to think that Sergeant was remembering happy memories. Perhaps something Bucky thought he would never recall. Maybe something from their childhood together. Sometimes Steve thinks of how long he’s thought of Bucky as more than friend. He had certainly felt this way long before the war. Only now (though far-fetched) Steve may be able to confess his feelings someday. After all, the world was much more accepting of homosexual _and_ bisexual people today. At least, a hell of a lot more than they did in 40s. Steve thanked his lucky stars for that, even though he assumes he may never have the courage to tell Bucky how he really feels. It was even more of a long shot to think that Bucky might respond in a way that says, “Hey, me too!” The Captain never stopped hoping, however, and never stopped picturing this happening, despite his negative attitude towards his apparent sexual preference, which was bisexual, not homosexual. Steve now comfortably acknowledges that he loved Peggy, but he never ceased to have an attraction to Bucky. Although because Bucky was a male, it was very difficult to deal with the way he feels about it. Perhaps it was the close-mindedness he grew up around that kept him from being comfortable with his sexual thoughts pertaining towards Bucky. Speaking of which, he found his eyes had trailed down to Buck’s pecs. How long had he been staring?

Nevertheless, Bucky doesn’t seem to notice, so Steve decides to keep brazenly ogling his body. He watches the soft rise and fall of Bucky’s chest as he breathes. He notices small patches of hair poking through. _Bucky shaves his chest, how ‘bout that?_ He still has plenty of muscle, but in some ways appears a bit scrawny. Maybe a little unhealthy looking? Since regaining his memory, the Sergeant hasn’t pushed himself as hard to stay fit. In fact, he has to be reminded to eat almost everyday. Due to this, no one wants to tell him he could get some exercise, too. It’s not so much that he _needed_ it, just that it’d be healthier to be active everyday, and not just on the missions he chose to accompany. Steve knows Bucky definitely doesn’t need the exercise to _look good._ Bucky _always_ looked good to him, especially right now.   

Soon enough, Steve feels himself becoming overwhelmingly drowsy. The lack of activity and talking made his body respond in such a way where it didn’t want to move. Well, that’s a lie; it wanted to snuggle up against Bucky and fall asleep, but had to remain still. The Captain slides his eyes shut again, breathing slow and even. He imagines what it’d feel like if he _could_ cuddle Bucky. He slowly tilts his head to the right, and he pretends as if he was lying on Bucky’s chest. He relaxes any tense muscles, which causes his mouth to rest open, instead of closed. Every few minutes he wets his lips, to keep moisture, but it eventually becomes a chore. He’s too tired.

“Did you fall asleep?” A soft voice asks, but it sounds far away. Steve’s conscience knows it’s Bucky speaking to him, but he doesn’t have the energy to respond. He pretends to be completely asleep, though he doesn’t know why he won’t just get up and go to his own bed. He feels cold metal poke him once. Twice, three times. Then a jab to his cheek. Lucky for Steve, he’s too tired to smile at the silliness. Actually _very_ lucky for he feels a warm flesh hand rest on his chest, so delicately, his body almost reacts. Almost. The hand leaves his body as soon as it touches. But only for a moment. A thumb lightly traces Steve’s lower lip, while an index finger lightly touches his chin. The Captain focuses on keeping his breathing slow and even, a task that is proving to be very difficult half asleep. The thumb trembles against his lip then the sensation is gone.

_Am I dreaming?_

A cold metal arm slides under Steve’s back, propping his body up. Another arm gently raises his legs. His body is lifted from the bed and carried. Steve desperately wants to wake up to make sure this was a dream, but couldn’t because he never wanted it to end. After too short a time, he hears a door creak open and feels himself on soft bed again. Bucky holds the back of Steve’s head and keeps another arm under his knees to steady him. After settling the Captain’s legs, the Sergeant pulls a blanket over his body, keeping his head cradled in his left hand. When he finally slides his hand out from under Steve, he takes a moment to gaze upon his sleeping friend. He sighs and reaches to touch Steve, but hesitates.

Steve can’t take it any longer. His eyes fly open, but Bucky is gone. The door is being shut. Steve suddenly touches the back of his neck. It was still cold.

It wasn’t a dream.

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh, when you’re cold,

I’ll be there

Hold you tight to me.

Oh, when you’re low

I’ll be there

By Your Side.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment on how I'm doing. After adding some more in, my beta couldn't check the chapter for me so hopefully there aren't many mistakes.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	3. Bittersweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The basic headcanon in this chapter is that Bucky would take advantage of his freedom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for the long wait!  
> Thank you for anyone who is sticking around to continue reading.  
> Really, seriously. Thank you.  
> Please enjoy.

“I’m just setting

I’m just setting  the trap

And I’m not pulling, no

I’m not pulling for you, you’re just pulling at me

I’m not a betting man, but this is a sure thing.”

 

* * *

 

It’s now been two weeks since Steve has been visiting Bucky in the dead of night. The Captain finds the opportunity of spending time with the Sergeant to be his favorite part of the day. He’s become rather attached to his friend in new ways these past few weeks, in several aspects. He’s attached to Bucky’s laugh, Bucky’s hair, his eyes, his mannerisms, everything.

Some nights have been shorter than Steve would have liked. Usually it’s his fault for falling asleep so early, but never in his own bed. It’s always after he had been talking with Bucky for at least a little while. And every time he’s always carried back to his own bed and carefully tucked in. He wonders if perhaps subconsciously he falls asleep just to make this happen. The Captain loves being taken care of in such a small, lovely way, regardless of how meaningless it may seem to others. It’s the glimmer of hope he has that Bucky cares for him in the same way he does. Well, probably not. It is merely carrying him to his own bed, which could indicate a want for him to _not_ fall asleep in the Sergeant’s bed, but there’s no sense in overthinking such a simple action. Ignorance is bliss.

One of the more interesting nights involved the aftermath of a celebration. Not a big one, of any kind. It was Clint’s birthday, and Nat threw him a surprise party. Of course, that had been difficult because when everyone shouted, “Surprise!” Clint merely made a face, as if he heard a car horn beep outside. It wasn’t until Nat shoved his shoulder that he looked up from his phone and he realized what was going on. He wasn’t as surprised as Natasha hoped he would be. Nonetheless he was still happy that she tried. After cake eating and gift exchanges (literally everyone gave him arrow based paraphernalia, which Tony found hilarious and was also his idea) Clint convinced the team to continue the festivities at one of the local bars, which actually didn’t take much convincing. Even Bucky was game for a bit of alcohol.

“Maybe it’ll be like the old times,” he mentioned quietly to Steve as they all departed.

“Well, for you anyway. I can’t get drunk.” Steve shoved one hand in his pocket and held another one behind Bucky -- as if guiding him, but was careful not to touch him -- as they descended the stairs.

“That blows,” Bucky mumbled, putting  the hood of his sweatshirt up, and places both his hands in the pockets. He wanted to walk down the stairs at a quick and brisk pace, but everyone was ahead of him, taking their sweet time talking and laughing. He tried to wait patiently but found himself getting uncontrollably impatient. They had way too many flights of stairs to dilly dally. Steve threw an arm across Buck’s back and quietly says, “I know.” Although doubtful, it seems like it calms Bucky down. But Steve knew whenever it came to Bucky, you can never be too sure.

Finally reaching the bottom, the Avengers left the Towers and walked down the sidewalks of New York City. It was already dark, and hundreds of neon signs, street lights and car headlights lit the way. Steve rather enjoyed walks in New York City. He never really had the time to walk aimlessly and get lost, nor would anyone want to go with him. It was just the modern world had rather amazing qualities. There were still plenty of aspects the Captain would never understand (how could food cost _that_ much?) but he enjoyed the scenery. He enjoyed the people (for the most part), and he admired the technology.

As they marched on, Nat fell onto Clint’s shoulder and held his arm; Bruce and Tony spoke quietly to one another; Steve and Bucky walked a safe distance apart, noting their surroundings. However while Steve viewed the scenery, Bucky focused on every person that passed by, usually receiving a confused look in return. He would tug on his hood, wishing it would hide his face more than it actually did. Steve was attentive enough that he noticed Bucky becoming uncomfortable, but wasn’t sure how to fix it. He longed to grasp his hand as a silent way to tell him it was okay, but this was obviously not an option. Instead he subtly walked closer to Bucky. When the Captain noticed the Sergeant become tense, his hand would defensively ghost the Sergeant’s back. When he relaxed, Steve found himself relaxing as well.

Finally Clint presents their destination. Steve doesn’t note its name, for he didn’t care for coming to bars anyway, unless it’s a special occasion like it is now. Entering the pub, the team approaches the bar, announcing who’s birthday it is rather loudly. Steve sits a few seats away from the group and asks a different barkeep just for a coke. To his surprise, Bruce sits beside him and asks for a water.

“Figure I’ll sit over here with my sober friend.” He says softly, taking his glass from the barkeep.

“I’ll drink to that,” Steve can’t help but smile as his raises his glass. They clink softly. Meanwhile there is a rather loud group of beer bottles hitting each other. The Captain grins at the sight of Bucky in the group. The four collectively down their first bottle and immediately demand another. Bruce chuckles mildly, sipping his water.

“How do you handle hanging around that clown all the time?” Steve asks, eyeing Tony who’s acting like a fool, as usual.

“He’s not so bad one on one.”

“Are you sure? I’ve never had a good one on one conversation with him.” The Captain says this a bit bitterly. He recalls a time they had a private discussion about Bucky. Tony had demanded Bucky try and access himself as the Winter Soldier for a way have him lead them straight to Hydra. It came no surprise that Steve would vehemently disagree with this idea, and yet Tony insisted anyway. The end result was a near full on brawl, though technically they each had a legitimate point with good intentions. It was Natasha who broke them up (it was _always_ Natasha who broke up the internal fights). She pulled the two apart and yelled at Tony to stop being so pig-headed and told Steve to not let himself get so hot-headed. Like a mother, she made them apologize to each other, later muttering often about how men are children and will never get it together.

“I guess it depends on his mood. He might get a little rowdy tonight though. They all will.” Bruce turns to view the group taking on another round.

“It’s kind of nice not being able to get drunk.” Steve comments, viewing the group as well. He notices Bucky is starting to loosen up, smiling even, “But it has its drawbacks.”

“I hear ya,” Bruce looks down at his hands, which are palm up, “It would be nice to loosen up a little.” he closes his fists.

“Sorry,” Steve replies, taking a gulp of coke. The group besides them laughs at something Clint said. Bruce stays silent beside the Captain.

After a half hour of idle chatter and merry drinking rolls on by, a new customer smashes through the doors.

“Greetings Midgardians!” A voice booms. The four drunkards and the two sober men look up to see Thor, arms up and a grin painted on his bearded face.

“Thor!” Clint shouts loud enough for the entire block to hear. Not that Thor was much quieter. He approaches the group, slapping a large hand on Steve’s back, making him spit out his drink, and a gentle hand on Bruce’s shoulder.

“Why was he so much more gentle on you?” Steve’s nearly choking from the force.

“Because the other guy wouldn’t like it,” he replies, a sly grin on his face.

“Hello my fellow friends,” Thor pulls in the entire group for a hug. Bucky makes a face, trying to duck out of it; Tony spills his beer on Nat; Nat hisses and kicks him in the leg, which causes Tony to fall onto Clint, which _also_ causes Clint to spill _his_ beer.

“Dammit Tony! You made us spill our drinks!” Clint’s voice is slurring a bit.

“Jesus, how many have they had?” Steve mutters.

“I lost count,” Bruce replies.

“Another round! With an extra pint for me!” Thor’s voice booms again. They all cheer as Steve and Bruce watch. Steve catches eye contact with Bucky, who smiles wider and nods his way. The Captain returns the smile, looking down at his own hands, which are gripping his glass.

“You okay? You look like you’re about the break that glass.” Bruce crosses his arms, eyeing Steve.

“Huh?” He looks down at his hands and quickly loosens his grip, “Oh, no I’m fine.”

“Heyyy, Cap!” Bucky slurs, throwing an arm across Steve’s shoulders, jostling him so much his soda spills on the bar.

“Oh oops.” Bucky makes a face as he sets his beer bottle down, “Sorry.”

Steve can’t help but laugh a bit, “It’s all good, Sarge. Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Oh yeah, party’s fun. This is fun. _I’m having fun_.” Bucky gets uncomfortably close to Steve’s face as he speaks. Close enough that he can smell the alcohol on Bucky’s breath. It’s the Captain’s instinct to lean away, so he does, “I’m glad. You deserve to have some fun.”  I’m not sure what, but something is missing around this section??

“You’re d-damn right I do. Why-- why aren’t you having a drink?”

“I told you I can’t get drunk, Bucky.”

“You can’t feel drunk or you can’t drink a beer?”

“I can’t _get_ drunk, but I can drink alcohol.” He explains.

“Then here, take mine.” Bucky spins in his chair to face Steve. He takes Steve’s hand and places the beer in it, and forces his fingers closed around it, “Drink,” he orders.

Steve reluctantly puts the bottle to his lips, trying not to let these silly little things run through his mind. Silly things like what it felt like having Bucky’s hands touch his, and silly things like his lips touching what Bucky’s lips just touched. _You’re like a teenage girl._

He downs the rest of the bottle, trying not make eye contact with Bucky, who is constantly watching him. Setting it down on the bar, he lets out a quick sigh just as Bucky asks for two more. Steve tries not to roll his eyes; it would seem his friend was too drunk to process that Steve _could not get drunk._ So he would humor Bucky, drinking each beer just as he did. The Captain still did not find the taste of beer to be pleasurable, but didn’t mind it so much. Besides, after taking in his fourth now, the taste has been acquired and isn’t so bad anymore. In addition to this, it’s easy to get sort of a contact drunk being around people that were actually intoxicated. But the night is young, and just getting started. Maybe Bucky shouldn’t be pounding as many beers as he was.

Before the Sergeant has a chance to ask for a fifth, the Captain grips his shoulder, giving him a firm look, “Maybe you oughta slow down, huh, Buck?”

Bucky returns Steve’s concerned facial expression with a sassy one. He rolls his eyes and gives in, “But,” he holds up a finger, “I would like some more in a bit.” he hiccups.

“Whatever you say, buddy, just eat something, yeah?”

“Okay, _Dad_.” Bucky swivels in the bar stool to face the bar. Steve does the same, trying to suppress the mad grin constantly trying to form. He asks for a bowl of pretzels, the barkeep grabs a bowl from somewhere Steve didn’t see and presents it to Bucky, the obvious one in need of them.

“Eat.” Steve commands. Bucky stares at Steve as he plops his right hand in the bowl and grabs nearly all of them. Although only about four reach his mouth. Steve laughs and rolls his eyes, “You’re smashed.”

Bucky starts giggling, mouth full of pretzels, “Yup.” Steve laughs again, turning to look at the others. Clint, Natasha, and Thor are doing shots. Bruce and Tony moved to a private table. Judging by the closeness of their faces to one another, they seem engaged in a serious discussion. Steve dismisses it, as they do this often and turns back to see Bucky had nearly obliterated all the pretzels by now. Feigning sadness, Steve whines, “Aw, you didn’t save any for me?”

“Oh, sorry. You should have said something!” Bucky’s cheeks are red. Well, they had been red for a while with his increased blood alcohol level. The Captain still finds it cute, and simply smiles.

“I’ll get you more _and_ another beer.” The bartender hears Bucky and gives him exactly what he wants. Bucky pushes the beer and bowl towards Steve, “You should eat too. You’ve had four beers.”

Steve plays along, nodding and eating a couple pretzels. He doesn’t want to act too concerned about Bucky’s inebriated state; he’s never seen Bucky so loose ever. Not since he got him back. He suspects the aspect of having the freedom to get blackout drunk is why Bucky keeps asking for one more. Although he wished the Sergeant chose a safer way to enjoy his free will. Like perhaps asking for a water next time, but he knows he won’t. He expects Bucky to dive into this next beer, but notices he doesn’t. He watches Bucky, for any signs as to what he might be thinking. The Sergeant glaces at the Captain, then looks back down. He swallows, smiling at first, but it quickly fades away. Steve never stops watching, never stops staring.

“You okay, Buck?” He asks quietly, moving his head closely enough so that Bucky can hear him. Bucky mumbles something incoherent. Steve angles his ear towards Bucky, “What’d you say?”

“Think ‘m gonna be sick.”

 

* * *

 

“I’ve been to Tokyo,

and to South Africa,

So many places,

That you may say I’ve seen it all.

But my favorite place

Is the warm embrace

Of holding your hair back in a bathroom stall.”

 

* * *

 

“Okay buddy, let’s get you to the bathroom.” Steve jumps out of his seat and to Bucky’s backside, pulling him away from the bar. Bucky’s body goes limp in Steve’s arms.

“Come on, help me out here Buck.” Bucky’s body stiffens a bit, as he tries to stand. Steve’s hands hold Bucky’s arm in one and steadies his back with the other. The Captain starts to walk in the direction of the bathroom; the Sergeant trips and staggers in the direction of the bathroom. Steve wonders how one of the greatest soldiers in existence could end up in a state such as this. Nevertheless, the human contact felt more amazing than anything the Captain has felt in many months. He savors the warmth of Bucky’s body, even if it’s currently falling and bumping into _everything_ they pass.

Finally reaching the bathroom, Bucky starts retch a bit. Steve kicks the door open and quickly gets into a stall. Bucky falls to his knees and grips the toilet seat, vomiting. Steve bends over and holds Bucky’s long hair back, figuring this is the best he could do in this situation, even if the idea of the whole thing was disgusting. As Bucky’s hair begins to slip from his fingers, Steve tightens his grip around his hair. He leans a bit closer, his stomach touching the Sergeant’s back. The Captain analyzes his current emotions as the Sergeant’s body tries to empty all the toxins its been ingesting. His own body is feeling increasingly warm; there’s excitement by the fact that his abdomen is touching Bucky’s hunched back. The embrace-- _could you call it an embrace?_ \-- is just warm. And wrong. Any other person in the same situation would be as far away from the puking individual as they could be. But he wasn’t. _Why?_

When it seemed that Bucky was done, Steve heaved him off the toilet seat.

“You good?”

Bucky slowly licked his lips, grimacing. He frowned deeply, “Yeah.”

“Alright, let’s get you cleaned up.” Steve says as he quickly pushes down the handle to flush the toilet. He leaves the stall having Bucky follow closely behind. Approaching the sink, the Captain quickly grabbed paper towels and wet them. He turned to find the Sergeant standing a bit close. Steve tries to shake the surprise off and raises the wetted towel to Bucky’s face. Bucky snatches Steve’s wrist, stopping the motion, and swiftly takes the towel from his hand.

“‘M not a child.” Bucky mumbles, turning to face the mirror, wiping his face clean. He then proceeds to rinse his mouth out in the sink. Steve faces the other way, “Sorry,” he says, a bit bitterly. When Bucky is finished, he brushes past Steve, but still can’t quite walk straight. Steve rolls his eyes and guides Bucky back out into the bar, much like he did on their way to the bathroom He feels Bucky shudder under his hands, but is unsure why. It felt more like Bucky was trying to escape Steve, but seeing as he wasn’t succeeding, Steve tried not to over analyze it. They passed by the table where Bruce and Tony have been sitting. Tony is staring at Bruce, chin in hand. Bruce watches the two soldiers pass them by.

When they reach the bar again, Clint, Nat, and Thor are all too drunk to notice they had been gone. Surprisingly, the two beers Bucky ordered were still there, waiting. But something else appeared to be waiting. More like _someone_ else. Two young women sat in the soldier's bar stools, one blonde and one (an unnatural) redhead. The blonde smiled and the redhead played with a strand of her hair. Steve nervously smiled as he approached them. Bucky didn't seem to realize quite what was going on. Steve elbowed him in the ribs to get him to look up. When he did, he smirked.

"How you two dames doin’?" Bucky slurred a bit. Steve bit his lip, looking up toward the ceiling. Why did this have to happen? No one can get Bucky out of the Towers for months and when they finally do, he's now liable to have a one night stand. The two women eyed them both, smiling rather seductively. Steve felt increasingly uncomfortable. It wasn't because of their gender or their looks or any of that; it was because judging by their body language already, they were looking for one thing only. One night stands are a concept Steve never has and never will be comfortable with.

"Hey, gals." Steve manages, "I believe you've taken our seats."

"Oh, sorry," the blonde pretends to pout, "We could both sit here though, if you'd like." She flashes Steve a grin, pushing her breasts together with her arms. The redhead asks Bucky if he'd like to share a seat with her. Steve answers for the both of them.

"No, that's okay. Stay there. We're here with our friends," Steve gestures to the table Tony and Bruce are at, "celebrating a birthday. So we were just going to take our beers and sit with them." Steve knows his lie is awful. But it seems to work based on the pouts on both girl's (and Bucky's) faces. The two women simultaneously stand up and brush past Steve and Bucky. The blonde bumps into him, on purpose. The Captain sighs, taking his beer off the bar.

"Let's go sit with Bruce and Tony."

"Seriously?" Bucky pulls Steve by the arm to face him,  “S’matter with you?"

"Come on, Buck. You didn't want to go home with them."

"How do you know?"

"Because you're drunk and you're not thinking straight. It was a bad decision." Steve tries to turn and leave again, but Bucky shoves his shoulder back so he can't.

"What gives you the right to make decisions for me?"

The question hits Steve like a ton of bricks. He didn't even realize the severity of what he just did. _Fuck up._

"I-- I didn't. I'm sorry." Steve stares at the floor. _Idiot. What's wrong with you?_

"Yeah, you are sorry. You don't control me. I don’t have to take orders from you, _Captain._ Just cause you don't want a girl doesn't mean I can't have one. Why don't _you_ go sit with Tony and Bruce? ‘M stayin’ here."

Steve looks up at Bucky. Bucky is glaring at him, nostrils flared. Steve reluctantly walks away, still holding his beer. He stops and stares at, and then chugs the entire bottle, wishing he could actually get drunk.

 

* * *

 

"Everything I do is Bittersweet

You could tell me secrets that I'll prob'ly repeat.

I'm not trying not hurt you,

I just love to speak.

It feels like we're pulling teeth.

So Bittersweet.

 

I guess that's how it's gonna be."

 

* * *

 

Steve reaches the table where the two scientists sat and pulled up a chair.

"Sorry, but I'm crashing your private party."

"That's fine," Bruce assures, "What happened over there?"

"Yeah, spill the beans, Cap." Tony adds, holding a glass of scotch. He seems more sober than the rest of them, but still quite tipsy.

"I cock blocked Bucky." Steve says bluntly, "I didn't mean to, I mean, I just thought it would be a bad idea all around."

Bruce and Tony crack smiles, despite Steve's remorse.  

"Don't sweat it," Tony tells him.

"It would have been a bad idea," Bruce continues Tony's thought, "He's not even going to remember that in the morning."

"Don't say that to him. It's ironic that he wants to remember but right now it's like he's drinking to forget. Something. He has night terrors you know." Steve adds, a bit sadly. He looks over his shoulder at Bucky; he's hunched over the bar, not even near the others like he said he'd be.

"He's doing this because he can choose to," Bruce explains, "Barnes has spent many years not allowed to think for himself."

"It's only natural that he'd want to go nuts and get shitfaced. He can do whatever he wants now. Why not?" Tony drinks his scotch.

"I know. I just wish he'd at least make _good_ decisions. But I have no right to tell him no," Steve pauses, "doesn't mean I won't worry."

"No ones yelling at you, Cap." Tony points out.

"Bucky was," Steve says as a matter of fact. He looks at the empty beer bottle in his hand. His instinct is to want another one, but he knows it won't do him any good. He sets the bottle on the table and crosses his arms, wanting to bury his face in them. The Captain can't get over how stupid he was with the previous situation. Maybe alcohol did have an effect on him. But instead of giving him the warm and giggly feeling of intoxication and the mentality to make poor decisions, it only gave him the mentality to make poor decisions. He looks back again. Bucky is the same position; Nat, Clint, and Thor are sitting at a table together now as well. They've slowed down considerably on the alcohol consumption and are just having a good time talking. Steve smiles a little. It fades due to the fact that Bucky could at least join them, but is choosing not to.

"Steve, maybe if you're regretting your actions, you should make amends." Bruce pipes up.

Steve turns back to the two men, "I already said sorry."

"Sometimes sorry isn't enough. Trust me, I know." Bruce makes a point to look Steve in the eyes.

"Well, what am I supposed to do?" He asks, helpless.

"You could pretend to be drunk." Tony says from behind his glass, his eyes sliding to meet Steve's.

"Pretend to be drunk? I've already told Bucky at least twice that I can't get drunk."

"Who cares? He's already too drunk to notice." Tony points out.

While the idea sounds ridiculous, Steve is tempted to try.

"Go and get another beer and slur a bit. Tell him you're sorry yadda yadda he'll get over it if you try and be his buddy rather than boyfriend."

Steve's eyebrows furrow, "Boyfriend?" He forces a smile, "that's ridiculous. I do not act like a, like a boyfriend."

"Oh my god, okay, but a buddy instead of a dad." Tony rolls his eyes, setting down his now empty glass. Steve's jaw clenches. What made them think he was acting like Bucky's boyfriend? Did Bucky think that too? .

"Alright I'll see what I can do." The Captain rises and lightly touches his empty bottle. He picks it up by the mouth and swiftly turns away from the two scientists.

Approaching the bar, Steve holds the bottle up in a gesture for another. He stands a two seats away from Bucky, sneaking a glance at him. The Sergeant has a two empty bottles beside him and third in his hand. Instead of wishing Bucky would slow down, Steve tries to think of something else. Like how to act drunk. It shouldn't be too difficult, seeing as it was somewhat easy to become contact drunk from being in such an atmosphere. The bartender sets another bottle in front of the Captain. He looks down at it and takes a deep breath, picks it up, and downs the entire beverage. He squeezes his eyes shut as he swallows the last of it.

"Woo! Another?" The sound is loud, but the question is meek. The bartender quickly gets Steve another. He takes this one slower. On his third he finally sits, one stool in between him and Bucky.

The Sergeant stares at Steve for quite sometime. The Captain knows but chooses to ignore him. By the time he's well into his fourth beer, he looks at Bucky. Expecting him to quickly look the other way, Steve is surprised when he doesn't. Bucky just blinks slowly, his expression twisting into that of a quizzical one. He purses his lips then finally speaks, "Are you drunk?"

"Yes I am!" Steve says very proudly. He keeps his eyes half open, smiling at Bucky, who remains quizzical. Steve notices Bucky's bottle is empty; he finishes his own then asks for two more, giving one to Bucky when he received them. The Sergeant finally grins, moving to the seat beside Steve. He holds his bottle up to toast, "To freedom."

"Ta freedom!" Steve tries to slur, "And ta Clint's birthday!" He shouts, holding his arm behind him and looking over his shoulder at Clint. He the others raise their drinks cheering. Steve's grin is wild when he turns back to Bucky, who is smiling as well. He puts the bottle his lips and sips his beer. Steve mirrors the action.

"Hey man, 'm sorry 'bout earlier. I didn't mean that."

Bucky waves his hands, "D-don't worry about it," throughout the sentence, his voice goes up a few octaves. He's beyond shitfaced by now, “You’er right. I really didn’t want them dames. Was just bein’...I just.”

“Hey, I get it man. You don’t have to say it.” Steve waves his hands around as well. He finds mirroring Bucky's actions make him appear more drunk. But he can't stop wondering why this was working so well.

"You havin' a good time?" Steve asks, his cheeks flushing. Great, even his body was making him look drunk.

"Mmmm" Bucky hums, nodding.

"Good, good. I'm glad. You _deserve_ a good time."

"I do, don't I?" Bucky says firmly, eyebrows pulling together.

"You do!"

"Hell yes, I do! I'll drink to that." Bucky raises his bottle. Steve does the same, hitting the necks together. The two soldiers put the bottles to their lips and guzzle the liquid down. Bucky sets his drink on the bar, propping his elbow on there as well to rest his cheek in his hand. Steve mimics the position. Bucky has a stupid grin on his face as he holds eye contact with Steve.

"'Member when I set up a double date for us but the girls never showed so we ended up drinking that whole bottle whiskey your parents had left behind at your place?”

Steve is washed over with several emotions by Bucky's question. Shock, because Bucky remembers that night; happiness, because he vividly remembers that night to be one of his favorites; and sadness. That alcohol was hidden in his place even after his parent's death. After all, he still missed his parents, even though it’s been a lifetime since that time. The time when he had nothing. When he had Bucky.

"Yes I do." Steve burps, "Except I remember you drinking most of it. Not me."

"C'mon you had like half!"

"No I didn't. You drank more because we got stood up. Didn't bother me none."

"'Course it didn't because you were never interested in any of the dames I introduced you to."

"Nope!" Steve draws out the n and puts extra emphasis on the p sound. He may have been over-doing this whole drunk acting business, but ironically Bucky was too drunk to notice.

"Why? They were always good looking." Bucky raises his eyebrows at Steve; his pupils are dilated like you'd expect a drunk's eyes to look. The cyan blue still looked brilliant, even if Steve couldn't see much of the color.

"Guess I was just never interested. Plus they always wanted to dance. I can't dance."

"You can't use that excuse forever, Rogers."

"I can because I really can't."

"Then I'll teach ya!" Bucky's voice raises an octave, and in volume. Steve cocks an eyebrow.

"You teachin' me to dance?"

"Sure! Not now 'cause 'M so drunk but after."

"You're not gonna remember." Steve slurs.

"Remind me." Bucky commands.

Steve beams, "As you wish, Sergeant."

 

* * *

 

"All that hate is, gonna burn you up.

It keeps me warm at night,

Warmer than anyone

I think how many drinks I've had

No more in either hand

I'm slurring on purpose

And it's certainly worth it."

 

* * *

*   *   *

* * *

 

After another half hour of various conversation, Bucky is starting to black-out. He’s leaning on Steve quite a bit and can hardly push out a coherent sentence. Steve becomes concerned and tells Bucky it’s time to go. He pulls the Sergeant’s flesh arm over his shoulder and guides him off the stool. It sounds as if he’s trying to protest but the Captain can’t make out any actual words. He turns to where Bruce and Tony are sitting, “I’m gonna get this guy home.” He’s completely dropped the drunk act.

Bruce immediately stands, “We’ll go with you.”

Steve nods and waits, keeping a firm grip on Bucky’s hand over his shoulder. Bruce has to guide Tony as well, but doesn’t need to carry him. They don’t bother to let Clint, Natasha and Thor know they are leaving; they’re too drunk to even notice. The four of them exit the bar, breathing in the crisp, cool air of the late night. The city is still buzzing, like it was still 10 p.m. instead of 2 a.m. Steve studies the surroundings for a moment, then starts walking. Bucky leans heavily against him, his body warm and inviting. If only he wasn’t black out drunk.

As they travel the sidewalks of the city, Bruce keeps a gentle hand on Tony’s back, whispering to him often. Tony would look slightly up at him, smiling and whispering back. Steve half smiled, wishing he and Bucky would be as close as that again. Physically, Bucky was very close to Steve, but unfortunately it was only because he couldn’t stand up on his own. However, this doesn’t mean Steve won’t relish in the warmth of the Sergeant’s body against his. He hears Bucky mumbling incoherently again.

“What?” steve asks softly looking down at Bucky.

“Thanks. Fer helpin’ me walk.” Bucky finally manages.

“You’re welcome, pal,” Steve smiles.

“You must hold your liquor good to...to be walking so...good.” Bucky pauses often in his sentence.

Steve’s smile grows wider, and he chooses not to respond. He follows Bruce and Tony around a corner.

“Hey, we should do this again sometime.” Bucky looks up at Steve, a dazed look in his eyes.

“What? Go out for drinks?”

“Yeah, I had...fun.”

Steve tightens his grip on Bucky’s hand, “Good. I’m glad.”

“So let’s do that ‘gain.”

“Sure thing, pal. I’d love to,” Steve looks down at Bucky, making eye contact. The Captain smiles warmly at his companion. The Sergeant’s face appears awe struck. If there was ever a time Steve wanted to kiss Bucky -- well he wanted to kiss Bucky all of the time, but now seemed like the perfect time. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He didn’t. He looks up at the two scientist’s ahead of him. Tony is leaning a bit, stumbling a little. Bruce gently helps Tony walk straight by holding him at the waist. Tony leans into the other man, keeping both arms around him. Steve feels a bit confused, as this whole gesture seems like something a couple would do. Maybe the 21st century has brought a change with how friend’s act with one another. Which lead him to the question, how much _could_ he get away with?

As soon as he thinks this, Steve puts the thought to bed. It’d be wrong of him to take advantage of Bucky, whether he be drunk or sober. Plus, maybe Tony and Bruce have a special relationship, an understanding. It was a bit difficult to understand modern relationships, as they’re very different nowadays. Men and women live together before marriage, now. People have friends they’ve never even _met._ It didn’t make much sense to a man of the early 20th century. He found it best to make relationships to the way he was taught to. It was one of the very few things he was allowed to keep the same since waking up in 2011.

Eventually they reach the doors of the Towers. Tony pushes in and enters some code in a key pad.

“Let’s take the elevator this time.” Tony mutters, leading the other three to it. They step inside and Tony gives the voice command to the floor he wants to be on. The disembodied voice complies and they start the long journey up. Steve leans Bucky on the side wall, letting the drunk lean on him for support. Bruce does the same with Tony on the opposite side. He studies Steve and Bucky, smiling a bit.

“You really care about him, don’t you?” Bruce asks.

Steve looks at Bucky, then to Bruce, “Yes.”

“Then can I tell you something?”

Steve is puzzled, and curious as to what that something might be, “Sure.”

“He cares about you, too.”

Steve shrugs, “I know.”

Bruce takes off his glasses and takes a long pause, “I’m serious. He does.”

Steve sighs, looking anywhere but at Bruce. He doesn’t understand. Obviously Bucky cared about him. He always did. They were best friends, still best friends, sort of. Friends that care about each other. That’s how it worked.

“I don’t understand,” Steve admits.

Bruce looks down, smiling, “You will. Because I know you feel the same.”

Steve is starting to feel overly nervous. He didn’t understand what the hell Bruce meant. He looks down at Bucky; he appears to be asleep on Steve’s shoulder.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Steve asks, looking up at Bruce. His eyebrows have pulled together, jaw clenched.

“Don’t get upset, Cap,” Bruce holds out the hand in which he holds his glasses. Ironic that one of angriest people he knows was trying to calm him. Steve shifted his stance, shrugging his shoulders, as if he were shrugging off the comment.

“It’s just, he’s my best friend all right? I know that I care about him, and I know that he cares for me. We’re in it together ‘til the end of the line.”

“‘Til the end of the line,” Bucky mumbles, “Always.”

Steve smiles, looking at Bruce, “See? Told you.”

Bruce nods, putting his glasses back on, “I’m sorry, I was misunderstood. Forget about it.”

Steve looks down, mulling over Bruce’s comment, just as the elevator finally comes to a stop. It dings as the doors open. Steve moves Bucky out before the other two can leave, “Come on, Buck,” he pulls his flesh arm back over his shoulders and keeps his other arm around Bucky’s waist, “Let’s get you to bed.”

“Hmmm,” Bucky answers, his feet twisting in front of each other. He almost trips, but Steve’s tight grip around him keeps him from meeting the floor.

“Just a little further.” he heads through the main living room and down a hall. Finding Bucky’s room, he quickly turns the knobs and pushes the door open with his shoulders. As the Captain makes it to the bed, the Sergeant leans hard on him. Enough that his loss of balance is too much, and he falls onto Steve, who falls onto the bed. Bucky slumps on top of Steve, sighing. Steve tries to shift out from under Bucky, but he’s actually a bit heavy.

“Hey Buck, can you help me out?” Steve asks, trying to wiggle free. Bucky hums and stays limp. Steve sighs, annoyed and leans his head back. Bucky’s breathing very slow and even. Steve is sure he’s  already asleep. He likes the idea of Bucky sleeping on top of him, but these were not ideal circumstances. Steve refused to let Bucky sleep on him because he was drunk. He pushed Bucky’s chest up with both hands. Once mostly free, he pushed Bucky’s body onto the bed, while Steve carefully got off. The Sergeant stirred, his hand reaching out in the dark.

“Steve…” he whispered.

“I’m right here,” Steve replied, bending down in front of Bucky.

“Steve,” Bucky repeated.

“What is it?” Steve asks, kneeling beside the bed. Bucky opens his eyes and looks at Steve. Although Steve doesn’t feel Bucky was _really_ looking at him. He was getting the faraway look again.

“What is it, buddy?” Steve asked again. Bucky didn’t respond; he just kept staring. Staring at Steve. He licked his lips, causing Steve’s heart to kick into overdrive. _What exactly is happening?_

 

* * *

 

“You and me

In a proverbial tree

It’s such a mystery

Why you’re here

(But I can’t live without ya)

 

You became

As clear as cellophane

My voice of reasoning

I don’t think I can take the way you make me out to be.”  

 

* * *

 

“Steve?” Bucky whispers.

“Yeah?” He whispers back.

“‘M afraid to go to sleep.” The Sergeant shifted his body so he could lay on his right side. He rests his head on his pillow, nuzzling into it. The Captain could tell he wanted to sleep but was fighting it.

“I know, buddy.” Steve replies softly. He reaches out to stroke Bucky’s hair, but hesitates. He’s trying to decide if he could perform this one gesture and get away with it, given Bucky’s inebriated state. His hand hovers over the Sergeant’s long hair.

“Can you,” his voice squeaks, “can you just stay in here tonight er...er somethin’.” Bucky is whispering and his eyes are closed. How could Steve say no?

“Yeah, pal, I’ll sit right here,” Steve gently places his hand on the side of Bucky’s head, pushing his hair back. Steve carefully guides it behind Buck’s ear, smiling as he’s already asleep. Steve continues stroking Bucky’s hair as this is his only chance for this sort of contact.

After a few moments of the repetitive motion, he rests his hand on Bucky’s cheek, rubbing his thumb over the scruffy hair. Steve smiles as he remembers the nude sleeping conversation again. He had done it a couple nights, as Bucky suggested, but each time he felt vulnerable, alone and just too naked in his bed. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt more comfortable with at least underwear on. He disliked feeling the blankets touching him everywhere directly. His bed still felt too soft as it was. Perhaps he’d never get used to the idea.

Bucky’s stirring breaks Steve’s train of thought. His heart skips a beat and he quickly pulls his hand off of his friend’s cheek. Bucky groans as he flips to his other side. It doesn’t take long before he flips back to the other side again. He keeps moving, trying to get comfortable. His eyebrows pull together and he groans again. The Sergeant suddenly sits up, eyes open. Steve watches, eyes wide, as he isn’t sure what Bucky is doing, or if he’s actually awake.

He appears to be, as he unzips his hoodie and throws it on the floor, revealing a t-shirt beneath. The Sergeant pushes the short sleeve up his left shoulder, and Steve hears the click and release of pressure. The arm slides off and catches the dim light from the window as Bucky places it on his nightstand. He then pulls his shirt off. Steve’s eyes go wider; _Does Bucky remember that I’m here?_ The shirt hits the floor and Bucky kicks off his boots.

“Hey, Buck?” Steve’s voice is barely a whisper. Next thing he knows, the Winter Soldier is gripping his shoulder. He leans back a bit, afraid. Both of the soldier’s breathing is heavy.

“Who are you?” His tone is alien.

“Bucky, it’s me Steve.”

“Bucky? Who the hell is Bucky?” The Winter Soldier tightens his grip on Steve’s shoulder. It’s beginning to hurt. His stump is up slightly. Steve imagined had the arm still been on, it would be raised, his hand in a fist.

“James,” Steve begins quietly, “You asked me to be here, remember? We went out for drinks. You said you wanted to do it again. Do you remember?”

The Winter Soldier digs his nails into Steve’s shirt, “I’m not him!” he hisses.

“Yes you are. Please remember,” Steve whispers, almost to himself. He had been through many situations like this since getting Bucky back. Compared to some of them, this was far less severe, however it gave Steve anxiety every single time.

“My name isn’t James.” the assassin spits the words out. His nails are close to breaking the skin.

“ _Yes it is_. Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. Unit one-oh-seven.”

Suddenly Bucky’s grip loosens. He blinks several times, reaching his hand to touch his collarbone, as if trying to grab something. His shirt?

“Steve?” Bucky leans back, on his knees.

“I’m right here Buck,” Steve stands, to keep himself at eye-level with Bucky. To his surprise, Bucky hugs him with his one arm. Steve tightly embraces him, “I’m right here,” he repeats.

“’M sorry.” Bucky says into his shoulder.

“Hey, hey. Don’t worry about it.” Steve pulls away to look at his friend, holding his shoulders with both hands “You’re still Bucky.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says doubtfully.

“You _are_. I promise.” Steve reassures. Bucky heaved a sigh, his head falling onto Steve’s shoulder. Steve drops his hands to his sides and sort of leans into Bucky, who doesn’t seem to mind.

“You want to try and go back to sleep?”

“Yeah,” Bucky leans back, his head dropping, “‘M just so afraid.”

“I know, but, you can hardly keep your eyes open, Buck. And you’re still drunk. You need sleep.”

Bucky reluctantly lays back down on his bed, not caring to cover himself with the sheets. When his back lowers onto the bed, he suddenly jerks up, feeling his chest, “I started stripping didn’t I?”

Steve tries not smile, “Yeah, you did.”

“I don’t even remember.” The Sergeant’s voice sounds broken. He runs his hand through his hair.

“It’s fine, you were...sleep stripping I guess. Totally normal.” Steve tries to lighten the mood a bit. Get Bucky to relax.

“If I was conscious, I wouldn’t have been doing that. Not with you in here anyway.” Bucky explains.

“Well...don’t worry about it. Go to sleep.” Steve awkwardly stands, not sure whether he should stay or go.

“Please don’t leave? I did fall asleep more easily. And I don’t even know what I was dreamin' about. I just woke up different. Maybe because I was uncomfortable.” Bucky speaks more to himself than to Steve.

“I’ll stay,” Steve sits on the floor next to the bed, “For as long as you need me to.”

“Thanks,” he replies, settling down into the bed. He lies on his right side, sliding his arm under his pillow, staring at Steve, getting that look again. Seconds pass, but it feels like hours.

“Can I ask you something?” Bucky asks quietly.

“Sure,” Steve replies, heart thumping. He hated that question.

“Why are you here?”

Steve is completely bewildered by the question, “What do you mean?”

“Why are you here, with me now? Why do you want to be here with me?” The Sergeant’s eyes search the Captain’s face.

“Because you asked me to be.” Steve answers as simply as he can.

“If I didn’t, would you still want to be?”

_Yes._

There is a long pause, “If I didn’t, would you still want to be here?” Bucky asks again. Steve was still trying to decide if he should dare. He decides to give himself one more chance, “Do you want me to answer that honestly?”

Bucky nods.

“Yes, I would want to be.” Steve is trying to keep his voice from shaking. He wasn’t sure what exactly was happening. It had to be the alcohol in Bucky’s system. It had to be the lack of sleep. Or still being half asleep. Or a combination of the three.

“You would?”

“Yes,” Steve decides to turn it on Bucky, “Why do you ask?”

Bucky’s mouth opens for a reply, but he shuts it. He appears to be thinking of a proper answer, “I don’t want to be a nuisance,” he finally says.

“I will _never_ consider you to be a nuisance, understand?” Steve replies firmly; the last thing he wanted was for Bucky to think he was being annoying. The Sergeant nods in a response. All the while he never breaks eye contact with the Captain.

Bucky slides his arm out from under his pillow and reaches to grab Steve’s shoulder. He shakes him a bit; Steve feels butterflies in his stomach from the familiar touch.

“Thank you...punk,” Bucky whispers, smiling a little.

“You’re welcome, jerk.” Steve smiles back.

“’Til the end of the line.” Bucky barely whispers. He drops his hand, letting it hang off the bed. He lets his eyes slide shut, a slight smile still evident in his features. Steve turns around to lean against the side of the bed. He closes his eyes, as well, feeling the events of the day weigh down on his body. It isn’t long until both soldiers are in a deep sleep.

 

When Bucky wakes again, he’s breathing heavily, and sweating, but he isn’t screaming. For the first time in months, he’s able to fall back asleep again.

 

* * *

 

“I’m just setting,

I’m just setting a trap

And I’m not pulling no,

I’m not pulling for ya.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you guys like this and please please please leave a comment!  
> The comments are more encouraging than you know!  
> Let me know what you liked, didn't like. All that good stuff!  
> Also be patient with me and my beta. We're working hard to make this perfect!


	4. I Would Do Anything for You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Begins as the morning after chapter 3.   
> Another character joins the Avengers.   
> Some sad headcanon and some sad actual canon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays everyone!   
> This is probably one the faster updates you'll get, and I'm sorry for that!  
> I apologize to those that are following this story quite faithfully in that I probably won't update very quickly.   
> Thank you just the same though. It feels amazing that anyone actually reads this.

“Never wanna stand up for myself.

Never wanna get in the way, I said it.

I don’t know what the plan is

But you can share with me cause I’ll

Be listening here

To everything you say,

I won’t turn away.”

 

* * *

 

The night after Clint’s birthday, Steve wakes up feeling quite uncomfortable; his neck is stiff and his bottom feels like it’s on concrete. He shifts, looking over his shoulder. _That’s right, I’m in Bucky’s room_. He cranes his neck to see the clock on the nightstand: 10:23. Damn. It’s considerably late in the morning for either of them to still be sleeping. He recalls on the events of the previous night and suddenly flooded with emotions, he remembers, and it hits him all over again.

_I’m in Bucky’s room._

Steve turns around completely to get a better view of Bucky: he’s faced away from Steve, clad only in his underwear. The sheets and blankets are on the floor, along with the rest of his clothes. His arm still sets on the end table, metal shining in the sunlight peeking into several various corners of the room. The Captain stands to stretch, searching to see if Bucky had a bathroom attached to his room. He did, and it’s sort of odd to Steve that he never noticed before. Then again, he was usually in here when it was rather dark.

He quietly crosses the room and slips into the bathroom, slowly shutting the door. Once safely inside, he takes the piss of a lifetime. He needed to go after the third beer he had last night and never got to until now. One sigh of relief and face splashed with water later, Steve is silently re-entering the bedroom. He stands in the center, contemplating on what he should do; he didn’t want to wake Bucky, but he didn’t really want to leave either. Something about how delicate and peaceful Bucky appeared when he slept made Steve want to watch him forever. Deciding that’s slightly too creepy to be a good idea, the Captain exits the Sergeant’s bedroom, figuring he could go for some breakfast.

He makes a pit stop at his own bedroom, changing from last night’s outfit into a t-shirt and sweats. Making his way into the kitchen, he’s surprised to see a new guest.

“Mornin’ Sam,”

Sam salutes from his place in front of the stove, “Mornin’ Cap. I made breakfast.”

“I see that,” Steve responds, sitting at a stool placed around an island.

“You know, since you guys do that sort of thing.” Sam cracks a smile as he serves Steve bacon and eggs.

“Thanks,” the Captain smiles gratefully.

“Heard last night was pretty nuts.”

“From who?”

“Bruce,” Sam points his spatula in the general direction of where Bruce must be, “He’s been up for a while.”

Steve nods, “Makes sense. He and I were the only ones that didn’t get smashed.”

“I didn’t hear it like that.” Sam scrapes the rest of the bacon onto a plate, turning off the stove.

“How’d you hear it?” Steve speaks with a mouth full of eggs; he was far too hungry to mind his manners. Plus it was Sam, and Steve was more comfortable with Sam.

“I heard you pretended to be drunk.” Sam searches the fridge for juice.

“Oh, yeah. Thought it might make Bucky more comfortable,” Steve admits. Sam finds a carton of orange juice and two glasses. He serves them both.

“Comfortable with everyone or just you?”

Steve sips his orange juice to avoid the question. Sam shrugs as he bites into a piece of toast, silently dropping the subject.

“We missed you last night.” Steve tells Sam.

“I know, I’m sorry. I was busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Packing.”

“Packing for what?”

“I’m moving.”

“Where?”

“Here.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up, “Really?”

“Yeah, I thought you guys could use some sunshine.” Sam flashes a toothy grin. Steve returns it.

“Plus, Captain America needs me, so.” the Falcon shrugs.

“I’m glad you’re here, pal. Going for runs in the morning isn’t the same without you there for me to pass by.” Steve tries not to smile.

“Finish your damn bacon, Captain Sass.”

He complies.

“So how is Bucky doing?”

“He’s alright. I’ve been spending time with him lately. Trying to help him remember.”

“Yeah? And how’s that going?”

Steve shrugs, chewing on a piece of bacon, “Some nights it’s good, some nights it’s bad. Just doing what I can.”

“You haven’t changed a bit.” Sam observes.

“Just a kid from Brooklyn,” a voice replies. It’s Bucky; he slowly enters the kitchen, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s thrown on his shirt from yesterday and his boxers are uneven in length on each leg.

“G’mornin’ Buck.” Steve greets cheerfully. Bucky mumbles in incoherent reply.

“Hungry?” Sam asks, offering Bucky his second piece of toast. Bucky looks at it, but makes no move to take it.

“Hungover?” Steve asks.

Bucky’s eyes flick to him and he nods once.

“Drink orange juice.” Steve instructs. The Sergeant raids the fridge and takes out a carton of orange juice. He takes the cap off.

_“In a glass.”_ Steve adds. Bucky stops to look back at the Captain, then silently obeys. Sam looks at Steve with a half smile, “When do you think the rest of them will get up?”

“Who knows.” Steve replies.

“I’m surprised you’re up, Bucky.” Sam comments. Bucky sits beside Steve, holding a large glass with both hands. He takes occasional short sips of his juice.

“Bad dream.” the Sergeant replies. Steve glances at him.

“Oh,” Sam changes the subject, “Have you liked staying at the Towers?”

Bucky shrugs, clearing his throat, “Yeah. S’nice.” he lowers his head into his metal hand, closing his eyes.

“Tired or head hurts?” Steve asks.

“Head hurts.” Bucky whispers, “N’ still tired.”

Steve sighs, patting his friend on the shoulder. He wishes he could make Bucky feel better, sleep for longer. And even though he couldn’t, the overwhelming urge to hold Bucky and comfort him only grew stronger everyday.

“S’weird ‘cause I slept most of the night okay and then all of the sudden it got a lot worse.” The Sergeant shrugs a bit, rubbing his hand on his forehead, eventually pushing his hair back. Steve never takes his eyes off of the slow movement.

“You hungry?” Sam asks. Bucky shrugs as a reply.

“How about I cook up some more bacon?” Sam suggests, resisting the urge to roll his eyes when Bucky doesn’t reply. He just takes another sip of his juice. Steve nods at Sam, silently letting him know to make some more bacon.

Bucky hums contentedly when the sizzling sounds of grease grace his ears and scent of the bacon fills his nose. Soon enough, Sam is serving Bucky a plate full of bacon, which is obliterated within a few minutes.

“I forgot how much I liked this stuff,” Bucky comments, mouth full of food.

“Apparently you forgot your table manners, too.” Sam points out, sliding more pieces of bacon off his spatula and onto Bucky’s plate. Steve sneaks a hand over, stealing a piece of bacon. Whilst chewing, Bucky glares at him.

Steve can’t help but smile, “What?”

“S’my bacon, Rogers.”

“Sam can make more.” Steve says as a matter-of-factly.

“Sam doesn’t want to make more!” Sam shouts, but is ignored.

“Still my bacon. _You_ make more.” Bucky’s lips are tugging a bit. He’s being playful, and he’s almost smiling. God, it’s so cute, Steve just wants to plant a kisses all over Buck’s cheek or his nose or anywhere. Instead, he simply smiles back and slides off the bar stool.

“Where you goin’?” Bucky questions.

“I’m going to make sure our friends are alive."

"After?"

Steve shrugs, "Maybe go for a run. You’re both welcome to join.”

“Oh yeah. Like I wanna be passed by two guys instead of one.” Sam pretends to give Steve the evil eye, but finds himself almost laughing instead.

“Sure. Why not?”

“Because I’m sick of hearing, ‘On your left.’”

“Fine,” Steve shrugs again, grinning, “Then I’ll be on your right.”

 

* * *

“And I will listen,

Open up my heart and I must say

That I love you, so

Ooh, lala, I’ve fallen in love

And it’s better this time

Than ever before

Ooh, lala, I’ve fallen in love

And it’s better this time

Than I’ve ever known.

Every day is a battle I face

Strange life I’ve lived but it’s what you’ve decided.

I’ll give it all in your hands,

Do what you will with me.”

 

* * *

Steve finds he’s more nervous than usual when he enters Bucky’s room. He doesn’t knock anymore; Bucky usually hears his footsteps in the hall before Steve even raises his hand to knock. He walks inside and strides to the bed, sitting on the edge.

“Hey, Buck.”

“Captain,” Bucky replies. He tugs uncomfortably on the sleeve of his black t-shirt. Steve never actually mentioned that the two of them should be wearing more than just underwear, but his persistence in wearing too many layers seems to have gotten the message across. Bucky continues to wear boxer briefs, but always accompanies it with a shirt or tank top. Steve wears sweatpants more often, forcing him to become uncomfortably warm most of the time, but the drawstrings are nice to fiddle with.

“How’s your head?”

“Doesn’t hurt anymore. Headache went away sometime after you left for your run.”

“Ah.”

“I would have went, but wasn’t feelin’ up to it.”

“That’s fine.” Steve half smiles.

“I haven’t been active much lately.” Bucky scowls. He seems upset with himself.

“You don’t need to be, Buck. It’s okay to take a break.”

“What if I slip up? What if I’m not one hundred percent and someone attacks? Then I’ll--”

“Hey, hey,” Steve shits closer to Bucky on the bed, “What’s this all about?”

“Dunno jus’. I lost a bit of control last night and I didn’t like that.”

“It was one time. One drunken night. No one’s yelling at you, Buck.”

“What if I’m yellin’ at me?” Bucky holds his knees to his chest.

“Go on a run with me tomorrow, then. We’ll both get some exercise.”

“Sam too?”

“Sam might run, too. But he was pretty whipped today. Even I was a little more whipped than usual.”

“M’kay.” Bucky breathes into his arm. He agrees, but doesn’t seem satisfied. Steve studies Bucky for a moment; he knows something else is off, but he isn’t sure what it is. Perhaps he was still upset about something from last night. Whatever it was, Steve wished he could make it better. Take Bucky’s hand and hold it until he was ready to talk about it. He just wanted to make it go away.

“S’matter, Buck?” Steve whispers.

Bucky clenches his jaw, eyebrows pulling together. He takes a deep breath, “I was the Winter Soldier last night, wasn’t I?”

_So that’s it._

“Only for a little bit.”

“Did I hurt you?” Bucky’s voice barely makes a sound, but Steve can hear the broken emotion.

“No.” Steve answers honestly. His grip was a little tight but nothing pain-worthy.

“I’m sorry.”

“You know, you apologized last night.”

“I don’t remember.” Bucky inhales shakily.

“Bucky,” Steve speaks softly; he isn’t sure what he should say at the moment. Sorry? How could he comfort someone in a state such as Bucky’s? It wasn’t anyone’s fault that he couldn’t remember except Hydra. But maybe Steve felt like it was his fault, too. When Bucky fell off the train, Steve let him fall. When Steve fell from the helicarrier, Bucky jumped after him. Hydra only seized the moment and decided they could use Bucky. They found him helpless bleeding in the snow, alone. Probably screaming in pain; crying for help. Calling for _Steve_. And he wasn’t there; he never came.

_This is all my fault._

“Hmm?” Bucky reluctantly looked at Steve: his lower lip was slightly quivering.

“This is all my fault, Buck. If I had just went after you on the train--”

“Please stop blaming yourself.”

“I can’t Buck. I’ve never stopped blaming myself. You know what I hate most about myself? I hate that I was thankful for my life. I should have fallen _with_ you. I shouldn’t have survived that plane crash. But I did. And I went on for so long believing my best friend was never coming home. You did what I could never do in the war. I was the face of the American army, but you were the fire behind us. You were the brave one. _You_ were the one that made the difference.

“All I ever did was knock some fellas out. You took out the ones that needed to go down. You were the real hero of America. And I let you die...all I could do after was pretend that I could drink the pain away and crash a plane into the Arctic.”

“Idiot.” Bucky mumbles.

“Sometimes I wish I just stayed frozen.” Steve’s voice has lowered to near whisper. He stares at the floor, hands resting in his lap.

“Please don’t say that.”

“I can’t pretend like I don’t think that way sometimes.”

“Steve, you’re the only reason ’m here, now. You realize that? I would still be assassinatin’ good guys if you never had been one of ‘em. If you weren’t here, _I_   wouldn’t be here. An’ I feel pretty damn lucky that I‘m startin’ to get my life back. How dare you say somethin’ like that, Steve? With no you, there’s no me.”

Steve can't bare to look at Bucky, not when tears are pricking his eyes. He runs a clammy hand through his hair, trying to get the next sentence out without breaking, “I need to stop babbling like an idiot when I’m talking. I keep saying things I shouldn’t.” The Captain tries to laugh it off, but it’s feeble at best.

“You need to stop feelin’ like that. You seeing a shrink?”

Steve flinches at the question, “Are you?”

Bucky is taken aback; he leans against the headboard, “No,” he answers quietly.

“Well you need it just as much as me, pal.” Steve starts fiddling with the drawstrings of his pants. Gently at first.

“You might wanna shut your damn mouth, Rogers.”

“Hey, who’s problems are we more concerned about here? ‘Cause I’ve lost track.” Steve wraps the drawstring around his index finger.

“Yours.”

“Why? You’re important, too.”

“Yeah but ‘m not talking about offing myself.”

Steve tightens the string around his finger, clenching his fist, “Bucky, it doesn’t matter the severity. We both need help.” He unravels the string.

“You need help to realize how much you matter. You don’t know your place. I know my place. I’m just a kid who can’t remember himself, but I at least  know I’m just a kid who’s gone straight. All I need to do is remember that all the time. You’re worryin’ me with what you’re saying.”

“Yeah well sometimes a guy is too proud to take help.” Steve unravels the string and simply clenches it in his fist. All the while, he hasn’t taken the time to look at Bucky even once. Part of it is because he doesn’t want to see the hurt in Bucky’s face; the other part is because he is too embarrassed to let Bucky see how broken he really is. He’s terrified that Bucky will still have the ability to look into Steve’s eyes and just _know_. Yet at the same time, he’s terrified that Bucky won’t have that ability.

The Sergeant climbs the short distance across the bed and shoves the Captain’s shoulder, “Quit being so proud!”

Steve finally looks at Bucky: his eyes are red and watery. It doesn’t take the Captain long to realize that his are the same.

“What are we doing Buck?”

Bucky helplessly shrugs his shoulders. He rubs his forehead with both hands, trying to not to make his staggered breathing so audible.

“I hate...I just hate hearin’ you talk like you mean nothing to anyone. You mean everything to, to everyone.” the Sergeant crumples into himself. Steve doesn’t hesitate to embrace Bucky; he puts his arms around Bucky’s shoulders, letting his head fall into Steve’s chest.

“I’m sorry. I’ll, I’ll get help. I’m so sorry Bucky. I guess I didn’t really mean it.”

“Yes you did.” Bucky hesitantly places his flesh hand on Steve’s lower back. Steve remains silent; there’s nothing more he can say at this point. He’s overwhelmed with this feeling: it has been been slowly swelling from the base of his stomach and has filled his chest. He feels heavy and light at the same time. He’s noticed he can’t help but spill his guts to Bucky, and he’s noticed Bucky has been doing that, too. The Captain loves the interaction, but he still carries a heavy heart from the depression it has caused in both soldiers. He’ll never fully accept that he needs the help but he’ll try to get it. He will get it because he knows Bucky will, too. He will get it because he wants Bucky to get better, feel better, _become_ better. As if the other man could get anymore perfect.

Eventually the Sergeant backs away from the Captain. They make eye contact, and Steve wipes a fallen tear off his own cheek. He never felt comfortable crying around anyone; he remembered how men have always been frowned upon from doing so, and he was pretty good at staying strong, but around Bucky, all alone together, he found he just couldn’t.

“Call someone tomorrow, willya?” Bucky gently punches Steve’s shoulder.

“Yeah, I will. And you too.”

“Aye aye, Captain.” Bucky salutes, trying to smirk. Steve salutes in return, trying to smile a bit himself. He wonders why, in such a situation, he can feel so happy yet so upset all at once. Just by seeing Bucky there so close to him creates a sensation that is exhilarating to Steve’s entire body. All the same, he feels extreme sadness by expressing such darkness to one another. He wants it all to disappear; he wants the two of them to be happy. He wants it to be over, wants the weight to fall off.

And yet, when he was with Bucky he felt the weight begin to shake away, as if the world was beginning to disappear around them. He’d stop hearing the cars and people outside in the city and begin to hear the sound of Bucky talking, of Bucky laughing, of him breathing. He would stop looking out the window, stop looking at the walls and floor of the room and start staring at Bucky, memorizing every detail. As the nights went on, Steve begin recognize what he had been feeling. It was neither infatuation, nor pure sexual attraction.

It was love.

“Sam ever tell you that you could quit it all and do whatever you want?” Bucky’s voice breaks through Steve’s trance.

“Yeah, he did. Suggested Ultimate Fighting.” Steve half smiles. Bucky smirks, and Steve’s heart jumps.

_This is love._

“He said that to me, too.” Bucky snorted, “But then he told me to just do what made me happy.”

“He told that to me, too.”

“What makes you happy?”

_You_.

Steve shrugs, absent mindedly fiddling with his drawstrings again. He looks at them for a moment, then back at Bucky, “What makes you happy?”

“I don’t know.” Bucky shrugs as well, “Remembering.”

“Well I think the point was to do something physical that will continue to make you happy,” Steve explains.

“I know, I just, I really like remembering. You know, when they’re good ones,” Bucky smiles thoughtfully, “An’ I like makin’ new memories.”

“Yeah? I’m glad.” Steve smiles down at his hands, twiddling the string between his fingers.

“You still don’t know what makes you happy?” Bucky persists the question.

Steve looks at Bucky, his smile slowly fading away, “You do,” Steve blurts. His hands stop moving, and he looks at the floor, realizing what he had just said. He glances at Bucky who appears far more taken aback than he anticipates.

“I mean, you know. Bein’ with my pal again,” Steve adds.

_What I really mean is being with you. Being in love with you._

“Yeah, you make me happy, too. You help me remember. You’re the only that can.”

Steve had never considered this; he smiles broadly.

“I guess I never thought of it that way.” Steve begins playfully fiddling with the drawstrings again.

“Well, you should. Who else is still alive from the forties that can help me remember?”

“Peggy’s still alive,” Steve points out.

“Yeah, but she’d only remind me of all the times you two had all this romantic tension. Plus I never saw her much.”

“Fair enough. Funny. Her taking me dancin’ was enough to get me sutterting like an idiot. Nowadays it’s far different than that. I mean what girls will offer to do with you from the start. Least that’s from what I’ve observed.”

Bucky is quite for a long moment. He appears deep in thought.

“What is it?” Steve stares at Bucky, his hand frozen on the strings.

“Didn’t I tell you last night that I’d teach you to dance?”

Steve smiles, wishing his face didn’t flush so quickly, “Yeah. You did.”

Bucky nods thoughtfully, “Thought I did.”

“You did, and you remembered.” Steve points out.

“I also remember that you said you can’t get drunk.”

“I did. About four times.”

“But you pretended to be drunk.”

“Jesus Christ, Bucky. Why can you remember a night of intoxication but can’t remember what happens when you get back home?”

“I guess I just remember the fun stuff.”

“Well, I did that because I hoped it would help you feel more comfortable. Plus you were pissed at me.”

“That I don’t really remember. Whatever I was tryin’ to do, I wasn’t _really_ tryin’ to do.”

“So you weren’t trying to pick up two chicks at once?” Steve asks for clarification.

Bucky shakes his head slowly, “I didn’t really want to. I know I tried but I can’t remember why. Freedom of choice, I guess.”

“Well whatever the intentions, you were pissed I didn’t let you go through with it.”

“Well, why didn’t you?”

“Come on, Buck. Don’t make this a fight again.” Steve rolls his head back in annoyance.

“Alright, alright. I won’t. I’m keeping my promise, though. I’m gonna teach you to dance, and you better not make _that_ a fight.”

Steve tries not to squeal. He insteads smiles a bit too broadly, “Okay, pal.”

“Not tonight.”

“Sure thing.”

“But soon.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Steve can hardly breathe. He hoped Bucky would have remembered saying that, but he never imagined he would actually remember, much less go through with it. He recalls all the times Bucky swept the dance floor with some dame, her laughing as he spun her away then back into his chest again. Steve always watched, half wishing he could dance with a girl like that, and half wishing he was the one dancing with Bucky. It always looked like a lot of fun, and the Captain somewhat regrets that he hasn’t tried any sooner. People looked most in love moving to the beat of music. At least he knew he’d be learning soon, and from a dance partner he always wanted to have.

Steve still feels guilty, however. He never owed Peggy the dance he promised her. He feels awful because he often forgets about her nowadays, and he’s disgusted with himself for it. He did love her, but it would seem that a certain Sergeant constantly occupies his mind, taking away any space he had reserved for Peggy. It took away the space he’d reserved for his old friends and his new ones. He even ceased thinking about missions; he felt guilty about this as well: he hadn’t been out in action for a month or so now. It wasn’t completely far-fetched to have a break, but the Captain felt as if there should have been some trouble for him to fix by now. The break was wonderful, though. Finally getting a chance to hang around the Towers with all these people, with Bucky, it was something to be thankful for. Almost made him wish he could quit servicing the country. Almost, but not quite. He never would, but he sometimes reserved space to contemplate such a possibility.

“Doesn’t drawing make you happy?” Bucky’s voice breaks Steve’s train of thought.

“Oh, I don’t know. I mean, I’ll doodle somethin’ from time to time.”

“You should do it more often. I remember you used to draw, but I can’t remember what they looked like.”

“They weren’t that great.”

“Who cares? Draw me somethin, Steve.”

Steve cracks a grin, “Alright, I’ll make you a deal: You teach me to dance, and I’ll go out and buy supplies to draw you a picture. Deal?” Steve reaches out a hand.

Bucky smiles and shakes his hand, “Deal.”

 

* * *

“And oh,

I’ll smile when you speak.

Remember all those times I was hoping for something?

And shaking my head from all I have done

But you never left me.”

 

* * *

It wasn’t like Steve never noticed them before; Bucky always had scars marking his body. They were there, all over the place. A testement to all the struggles he’d been through, what they’d been through. Some areas they both had shared: scars on the feet from glass torture; simple and effective, but just the beginning. There were the scars on Bucky’s chest from Zemo. Steve won’t ever forget that, try as he might, when he was forced to watch Bucky get tortured. There was nothing he could do but scream in protest. This was most often the premise of his nightmares, including the one that had begun this ritual of the two soldiers spending the night together. The Captain sometimes wonders if Bucky remembers where all his scars came from, and if he still feels the sting of the instruments that caused such marks. Of course he never asks; how could he? But these, the scars he’s just noticing upon shaking Bucky’s hand, they don’t look normal: they look like words. A phrase.

“Can I...can I ask you something personal, Buck?” Steve ducks his head as they stop shaking hands to get one final, better look

“Sure, shoot.”

“I mean you don’t have to answer, or even show me. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable--”

“Just say it.” Bucky tenses.

“What are those scars on your right arm?”

Bucky freezes, eyes wide. He licks his lips and swallows. He definitely remembers which ones they are and what they mean seeing as he doesn’t have to look.

“I’m sorry, I made you uncomfortable.”

Bucky tries to brush it off by shaking his head, but it is clear that Steve struck a nerve.

“Forget I asked, it’s none of my business.” Steve turns away to fiddle with the drawstrings again, embarrassed. Bucky crosses his arms, hiding whatever it was Steve saw. But the Captain could see out of the corner of his eye that the Sergeant tracing the scars with his metal finger. He briefly wonders how the metal feels on a scar, but doesn’t ask.

“Gee, Buck, I’m lucky you put up with me so well.”

“Steve, it’s no big deal. I’m just not ready to talk about it right now.”

“I know, but I shouldn’t have asked. It just caught me off guard because I know where most of them are from, but I didn’t recognize those.”

“Yeah, uh, they’re new. Can we talk about somethin’ else?”

“Sure, pal. Whatever you want.” Steve swallows.

“You are kind of a handful. Always getting yourself into trouble.”

Steve smiles, “Yeah, beating up guys in back alleys while you went to science expos.”

“You were the tough one out of the two of us. You and your five foot four, ninety-five pound body.”

“I was. I always had ‘em on the ropes.”

“I know you did.”

“Then I had a growth spurt.”

“I swear to christ, if I hadn’t been so disoriented when you first rescued me, I would have socked ya. There was no way that you were the Steve Rogers I knew. The only reason I remember that is because of how surprising it was.”

“I know, it was quite an adjustment to get used to. Growing almost a foot.”

“And gaining over a hundred pounds.”

Steve smiles at his hands in his lap, shaking his head, “Such an adjustment.”

“Did everything get bigger?” Steve can hear the smile in Bucky’s voice. He turns to look at him.

“What do you mean?” Steve asks innocently.

“Come on,” Bucky smirks, “You know _exactly_ what I mean.”

Steve laughs a bit, “Yes, I could see in color afterwards. That made everything _feel_ bigger.”

“Not what I meant.” Bucky rests his chin on his folded arms.

“Yes, my lungs grew which allowed me to breathe much more easily. No more asthma.”

“You’re an ass, Rogers.”

“Yeah that was nicer, too.” Steve can’t help but smile and laugh. Bucky shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

“You’re a dick, you know that Captain?”

“Oh yeah! That became a much better asset too.”

“Oh so _now_ you answer the question. I see how that was. I know how this works now.”

“That’s exactly how it works.” Steve grins at Bucky, who bites back a broad smile. He licks his lips and runs his hand through his hair.

“Think I wanna get my haircut.” the Sergeant changes the subject.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, kind of sick of how long it is. Too much management.”

“We can go tomorrow. After we call for a shrink.”

“‘We?”

“Yeah, I should get mine trimmed a bit.” Steve rubs the back of his head, his hair getting long enough to shift with the movement.

“Okay, that sounds good.”

“I can pick up some art supplies, too.”

Bucky nods and smiles a little, tugging at his long hair. Steve silently admitted to himself that he wished he could feel what Buck’s long hair is like, but figures that may make it awkward. Aside from this, the Captain preferred short hair on the Sergeant. Plus the long hair made him think too much about Bucky’s position as the Winter Soldier.

Steve yawns.

“Are you tired?”

“Yeah, I am. I didn’t sleep for very long and have been pretty active today.” Steve lays back onto the bed out of habit, and because he was starting to feel the exhaustion. Additionally, his back and neck started to ache from being bent over in his sitting position, even more so as his neck still hurt from his sleeping position last night.

“I didn’t sleep long either, so I should probably try to get some of that.”  
“Yeah, I seem to keep you up most nights. Sorry.”

“No, it helps me sleep better. A little bit. Don’t apologize.”

Steve stretches his arms behind his head. Admittedly he wasn’t that sorry. If there was anything Steve Rogers thought he was, it’s selfish. He wanted all the time in the world with Bucky. He took what he could get, and he was more than happy that Bucky didn’t consider it something to apologize for.

“Well, I’m not carrying your ass to bed again,” Bucky leans forward to make sure Steve hadn’t already fallen asleep.

Steve formed a sly grin, “You carry me to bed? Is that how I get there?”

The Captain is sure the Sergeant’s face goes white in the darkness. Bucky does not lean back, however. In fact he leans forward a bit more, almost looming over Steve. He appears to be rocking as he is carefully choosing the best answer, “Yeah. Your dumb ass falls asleep in the bed sometimes and I feel bad pushing you to the floor. Bed’s not big enough for two people.”

“Get a bigger bed.” Steve finds himself making eye contact with Bucky. _Holy shit. Did I really just say that?_

Bucky never misseas a beat, “Maybe I will. Stark owes me somethin’ for being an ass all the time.” Bucky’s face is calm and collected as he eyes Steve as Steve slowly sits up. _Are we flirting? Is this flirting?_

Steve holds the gaze until he feels like he might lean forward. For what, he’s too afraid to think about. He decides to look away, down at the drawstrings again.

“Night, Buck. I’ll let you know when I’ve called someone and we can go get you that hair cut.”

Bucky nods, and Steve can feel his eyes on him, “Yeah, sure. Night Rogers.”

Steve sits for a few seconds, unsure why he won’t get up and leave. His legs finally push him up and he exits the room without saying a word. When the door is shut, he nearly runs back to his room, a wild grin pushing its way across his face. The Captain falls onto the bed, face down. He feels as though he shouldn’t become so giddy right before sleep, but he couldn’t help himself.

He was in love.

 

* * *

“Give it up for you,

I would give it up for you

I would give it up for you

I’d do anything for you.

I have fallen in love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it sounds needy, but please please please leave a comment. It means the WORLD to me!   
> I haven't gotten any for chapter three, so I don't know how well you're actually liking the story.  
> Comments are super duper important to all authors.  
> I just want to know if the story is worth continuing and/or if I'm still living up to the expectations.  
> Some of you have mentioned you created an account to follow this and are in love with the story.  
> Just keep letting me know if you still feel the same.  
> It's super important!  
> Thank you. <3  
> Also [this is a long note, I know] this fic is heading in the direction of 20-23 chapters. Not too sure yet. Just letting anyone know who's curious.
> 
> [Song: I Would Do Anything for You by Foster the People.]


	5. C'mon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky gets a haircut!

“It’s getting late

And I

Cannot seem to find my way home

Tonight.

Feels like I am falling down a rabbit hole

Falling for forever

Wonderfully wandering alone.”

* * *

Steve wakes with a jolt: he overslept, he knows it. He looks at his bedside clock reading the time to be past one p.m. He rubs his forehead in disbelief.  _ I’ve never slept in  _ this  _ late.  _ He tries to remember when he actually went to bed the night before but cannot recall. What he  _ does _ recall are his plans with Bucky, and that he’s late. They had never established a time, but he was late. He wasn’t sure why he felt he was late; it wasn’t a date by any means, but Steve still felt like it was important for him to have woken up much earlier. He springs from his bed, his sweatpants inadvertently falling off his legs, pooling around his feet.

The Captain curses; this was wasting time. He quickly pulls them back up just as he realizes he had taken off his shirt sometime during the night--or morning--and doesn’t care to grab it. He rushes out of his room and down Bucky’s hallway. He reaches Bucky’s red starred door and is surprised to see it slightly ajar. He rushes in and stops in the doorway. Bucky isn’t in bed, but the disarray of sheets indicate he was there probably not too long ago. Steve turns on his heel into the living room; Bucky was sure to be awake, since it  _ was  _ the afternoon. 

He finds Natasha, Clint and Sam on the couch: Sam and Clint are playing some game on Xbox as Natasha sits, legs across both their laps, appearing to be quite bored. He crosses to stand behind the couch, looking down on them, expecting at least Natasha to turn around and acknowledge him. 

“Where’s Bucky?” he finally asks. Natasha, face resting on her fist, flicks her eyes at Steve.

“He’s not in bed?”

Steve’s eyebrows furrow, “No.”

“I’m surprised you were in bed this late.” Sam comments, maintaining full attention on the video game.

“Yeah I guess I haven’t gotten much sleep lately,” Steve speaks very quickly, “So you don’t know where he is?”

“Nope.”

“Did you see him at all today?”

Nat looks up for a moment in thought, “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think? So you’re not -- will you please look at me?” Steve demands. 

Nat finally cranes her neck to look at Steve. She smiles a little, “Nice chest.”

Steve glances down at his exposed torso, then returns back to the subject at hand, “So no one has seen Bucky at all today?”

“No, we haven’t.” Natasha answers for all three of them.

Steve sighs, pinching his nose, muttering to himself: “And he’s not in his room.”

“Hey,” Nat lays a hand on Steve’s arm, “Why are you so stressed?”

“Because Bucky’s gone!”

“So? He probably just went out for a while. That’s not unlike anyone here.”

“So?  _ So?  _ Don’t you  _ know  _ Bucky at all? He doesn’t just ‘go out.’ He doesn’t just leave by himself. That’s not what Bucky  _ does _ . Natasha, something is wrong.” the Captain crosses his arm, bending into himself. Straightening, he runs a hand through his hair.

“Maybe he wanted some food that wasn’t here and went to get it himself.”

“He would have told someone!” Steve nearly shouted.

“Steve, please relax. I’m sure he’s fine. Did you try calling him?”

Steve swallows, a bit embarrassed, “No, I just got up. I didn’t think about it.”

“Call him.” she replies softly. Clint and Sam remain unphased being far too engrossed in their game. 

Steve pats his pants, realizes he doesn’t have pockets, and rushes back to his bedroom. He quickly swipes his phone off his nightstand and dials Bucky’s number. It rings, but there is no answer. He walks into the hallway, dialing again. Faintly, he can hear the sound of another cellphone’s ringtone. Fearing the worst, Steve rushes back to Bucky’s room, the ringtone getting louder. It stops, and Steve dials again. Sure enough, on Bucky’s nightstand, his cellphone rings and vibrates. Steve closes his eyes, holding the corner of the phone to his forehead. He runs back into the living room.

“He left his phone here.” 

Finally Natasha shows concern in her expression and  _ finally  _ Sam and Clint pause their game. They all turn to Steve, who looks about as lost as can be. He helplessly shrugs.

“He’s gone again.”

“Okay, Steve,” Nat gets up from the couch and crosses to Steve, “First thing I want you to do is breathe.”

Steve clenches his jaw, breathing staggered.

“ _ Breathe.”  _ She repeats.

The Captain relaxes slightly and takes a deep breath in the nose and out the mouth.

“Okay, good. Second thing I need you to is relax.”

Steve tenses. She places a gentle hand on either shoulder and runs her hands down his arms, as if smoothing the sleeves of a shirt--if he had been wearing one.

“Relax,” she repeats softly. She feels his muscles soften beneath her hands. 

“Good. Now I want you to think: do you have any idea why Bucky might have left?”

“Well, he mentioned he wanted to get a haircut last night. I was going to go with him when I got up.”

“Now don’t you think he could have grown impatient and left without you?” She asks.

“The old Bucky would’ve. I don’t know about the new Bucky. He doesn’t like to make choices on his own.”

“Maybe you don’t know as much as you think you do.”

Nat feels Steve’s muscles tense under her hands, “I know him, Nat.”

“People can surprise you.” She points out.

“Not him.” He retorts, glancing over Natasha’s shoulder to see that Clint and Sam are anxiously watching the conversation unfold. 

“Steve, I just want you to think rationally.”  
“I am.” 

“Are you?” She raises an eyebrow at the Captain.

He doesn’t answer.

“How about this? We split up and check every stylist in the city. See if any of ‘em styled a brainwashed soldier’s hair.”

Steve grits his teeth; she continues: “And we’ll have Tony keep watch in case he comes back. Deal?”

Steve breathes out of his nose, “Deal.”

“Kay, get dressed.” She places her hands on the top of Steve’s shoulders, turning him around and pushing him away.

He jogs back to his room, trying to find a suitable outfit as quickly as he can. As he opens his drawer full of jeans; he rests his head on top of his dresser. Sighing, Steve feels like his body is full of sand.   _ It’s all my fault, _ he thinks. Whether Bucky had been captured by Hydra or just left because Steve had to sleep in for so long, it was his fault. And whatever it was that caused Bucky to leave suddenly, Steve couldn’t help but believe it was something much more negative than Bucky becoming impatient. 

He finally slowly extracts a pair of jeans and pushes the sweats to the floor, pulling the jeans on. He opens the drawer above the pants drawer, taking the first shirt off the top and throwing it on. He finds an old pair of sneakers that he can slip on without tying. Jogging back into the living room, the three others are up and ready to go.

Natasha explains the plan to Steve: “We’ll split up and search the city. It might take a while but if these two are on high ground with me and you on low ground, we should be able to find him. Plus we got Tony searching faces. Any of us find anything, we’ll call you.”

Steve nods once, “Thanks, guys.”

Natasha crosses to stand in front of Steve, “We’ll find him.”

Steve remains silent.

“And he’ll be okay,” she adds.

Steve nods a little, “Thank you.” he looks up at Clint and Sam, “Thank you.” 

Sam smiles, “I did this with you once, I’ll do it again.”

Steve smiles a bit as well, “Let’s go.”

* * *

“What would my head be like,

If not for my shoulders?

Or without your smile,

May if follow you forever.

May it never leave to sleep in the stone

May we stay lost on our way home.”

* * *

Making his way out of the Towers, Steve commands Natasha to go right and he’ll stay left. The basic plan in his head was to cover every street, every alley, every building, without repeating, but also without missing. As he checks the first block, he realizes what an immense task this is going to be. He’s searching every face that passes by, looking over people shorter than him, scanning windows into shops. People stare, annoyed, fascinated. Most of them shove past the Captain, unaware of who he actually is, and they don’t bother with a simple, “Pardon me,” or anything of the sort. Not that Steve had particularly noticed the rudeness of those passing him by. He focused completely on the task at hand: Find Bucky.

It seemed hardwired into his brain to do just that: find his best friend in hard-to-find places. He would always spot Bucky in a crowd of dancers; he found Bucky over anyone else after he had went MIA; he found Bucky about a year ago with the help of Sam. He could find him now, he could, and yet he didn’t feel confident that he would. He tried to block of the sounds of vehicles, shoes falling on the ground, people’s voices; but most of all, he wanted to block out the sound his heart was pounding in his ears. This was only making it difficult to listen for Bucky’s voice. Maybe the scrape of metal on a brick surface; Bucky would probably stick to the walls, wherever he was. But try as he might, Steve couldn’t relax long enough to focus. Covering the third or fourth block, he ducks into an alleyway, half searching for Bucky but also trying to breathe for a moment. 

Leaning on a brick wall beside a dumpster, Steve did all he could from collapsing. He reached for his phone. He wasn’t going to call, because he knew they would contact him if they found anything, but checking it to ensure he had no new messages made him feel better. He glanced at the time, noting it was already almost three in the afternoon. He slipped his phone back into his pocket, rubbing his face with his free hand. A few people walking by stop for a second to stare, wondering what on earth he could be doing. No one cared to ask. Steve briefly thinks he should start giving out descriptions, asking if anyone has seen the Sergeant, but somehow he feels this to be detrimental to Bucky’s safety. 

Breathing deeply a few times, Steve pushes off the wall and runs out of the alley, continuing down the sidewalk. He’s decided he’s just going to run in every opening, any place Bucky could be hiding. Hopefully if he causes a commotion, causes people to start asking each other what he was doing, that word would spread to wherever Bucky was just before Steve reached him. Maybe then Bucky would at least be listening to see what the strangers were talking about. Maybe then Bucky would find Steve. Maybe.

The Captain loses track of how many blocks he’s covered, and how far he’s gotten from the Towers. He finally begins blocking out the sounds of the people calling to him, honing in on one tone of voice that he keeps not hearing. His heart falls into the rhythmic beat he’s used to: the beat of running. He knows it well it enough to differentiate it from the others. 

Time seems to move on very quickly; minutes turn into hours. Steve notices the lighting change, and notices the street signs changing as well. He’s moving into different parts of the city, crossing a bridge. He’s stopped looking in every alleyway and store and feels his body seems to know where it's supposed to go. His surroundings become familiar in an almost eerie way, and he suddenly knows exactly where he is: Brooklyn. He feels this is where Bucky probably is, but he doesn’t know why. Perhaps Bucky remembered Brooklyn and wanted to be somewhere familiar? But why?

He ducks into the closest alleyway and rests his hands on his knees, purely breathing for a few minutes. His legs won’t stop shaking. He reaches for his phone and notes that three hours have passed by, and still no new messages. He dials Natasha’s number. She answers on the first ring.

“Found him?”

“No,” Steve has speak in between breaths, “But I think he’s in Brooklyn.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t. Tell Sam and Clint to head on my way.”

She doesn’t question his feeling, “Roger that, Rogers.” 

He smiles a little and hangs up. 

Leaning against the wall, he sinks to the ground, head in his hands. The Captain rubs his eyes, cursing himself for running for so long without stopping. He’s dehydrated and exhausted but he knows he can’t stop here, but maybe he could wait a few minutes. It’d probably take just as long for at least Sam to get there, wherever there was. He never did give a location, but he supposed they’d just search all of Brooklyn. 

“Hey man, are you alright?” someone asks.

Steve looks up at the stranger speaking to him: it’s just a man, mid twenties, holding a plastic bottle of water.

“Y-yeah. Just tired.” Steve answers.

“Well here,” the man hands the Captain his bottle of water, “I don’t really need it and you look like you could.”

Steve accepts the token, “Thanks.” 

The man walks away, and Steve gratefully removes the cap and nearly drinks the entire bottle in one go. 

Feeling slightly regenerated, Steve jumps to his feet, finishing the last of the water. Tossing it aside he’s about to run when his phone vibrates in his pocket. He grabs it and answers it, not bothering to check who’s calling him.

“Got him,” It’s Clint, “He’s in an alleyway, way back. Next to a movie theater, on the corner of--”

“Got it.”

Steve hangs up and sprints. He knows exactly where Bucky is. 

* * *

“C’mon, C’mon

With everything 

Falling down around me

I’d like to believe

In all the possibilities.” 

* * *

When Steve sees the old theater in his line of vision, his heart jumps to a different beat. It stops racing from running for so long and starts beating from fear. He doesn't know exactly how he'd find Bucky when he turned the corner, and honestly he was terrified to find out.

Coming closer, he slows down to walking speed and then stops just before the alleyway. He takes a few seconds to catch his breath before peering around the brick wall. When he does, Steve is both relieved and scared: Bucky is sitting, curled by where a the right wall meets a dumpster. He's holding each arm with his hands. He appears frightened, appears to be trying to hide, but looks okay. The Captain slowly approaches the Sergeant. 

"Bucky?" Steve stares down at his friend. Bucky slowly looks up, his blue eyes resembling that of a lost puppy. Steve doesn't hesitate to drop to Bucky's level, pulling him into a tight embrace.

"Steve?" Bucky doesn't move; his body has simply gone limp. 

"Bucky, I thought I lost you again." Steve holds the back of Bucky's head, and Bucky finally hugs back, his arms tight around Steve's shoulders. 

"M'sorry." Bucky whispers. Steve strokes Buck’s hair, “Please don’t apologize. Let’s just be glad you’re safe.”

Steve pulls away from Bucky, keeping his hands on the Sergeant’s shoulders. Bucky lets his hands fall onto the Captain’s thighs. The two stare at each other for only a moment before Steve’s phone vibrates for a call. He quickly pulls the phone out, not bothering to even look at who’s calling. He answers, saying the only thing he needs to, “I got him.” he’s about to hang up until he notices something off about Bucky, “We’ll be back in a few hours.”

Bucky cocks his head to the side, “Couple hours?”

“Buck, what happened to your hair?” Steve tries to hide a smile. Bucky’s hair was half long, half short. It appeared that Bucky left a haircut halfway through. The Sergeant’s hands fly up to touch his hair subconsciously.

“Um. Long story,” Bucky half smiles.

“What have you been doing today? Did you eat?” Steve asks.

Bucky shrugs, shaking his head, “No. Did you?”

Steve sighs, “I didn’t. Come on, let’s talk over a bite to eat.” Steve stands.

“Okay.” Bucky remains slouched on the ground. Steve holds out his hand and Bucky takes it. Pulling the Sergeant up, he leans into the Captain a bit more than anticipated. Steve finds himself in another embrace, this one initiated by Bucky. He quickly falls into, savoring the feeling of the entire position, and savoring the warmth radiating from Bucky’s body. Warmth that comes from everywhere except on his left. 

“Thanks for finding me. Again.” Bucky says into Steve’s chest. Steve rubs Buck’s hair.

“Don't thank me for something I'm hardwired to do."

The Sergeant smiles into the Captain’s chest. Squeezing one last time, Bucky pulls away. 

"Let’s go eat?" Steve asks.

Bucky nods rapidly. Steve guides him out of the alley way and finds the nearest diner, not interested in either of them needing to make a decision. Entering inside, the Captain finds it's a simple diner with some booths and a bar. A sign dictates they can sit wherever they'd like. Steve chooses a booth next to a window, closest to the door, but furthest from the bar. He figures Bucky would feel comfortable there; close to an exit but private.

Sitting across from each other, a waitress is already by the table. Steve asks for two cokes before she has time to ask in an effort to get her to leave. She nods once, placing two menus in front of them. Bucky looks at and swallows.

"Don't worry about it." Steve tells him, taking his menu away, "I'll order for you."

Bucky nods, smiling a bit, "Thanks."

"What happened Buck?" Steve asks, concerned.

"Bad dream." Buck mumbles, staring at the table top. Steve studies him for a moment then shrugs helplessly, his right arm falling across the table. As if he wants Bucky to take his hand, Steve leaves it palm up. Bucky glances at it, and then he shrugs himself.

"Can you elaborate?" Steve finally asks. Bucky takes a deep breath just as the waitress returns with two glasses of Coke in her hands. As she places them she asks, "Ready to order?" 

Steve closes his hand as answers for the both of them: two burgers, one with everything on it and one without onions and cheese. Just the way Bucky liked it, or used to for that matter. The waitress scribbles down the order smiling down at Steve; when she looks to Bucky her smile fades and she walks away. Steve waits until she's out of earshot. He leans towards Bucky, hand palm up once again. 

"Talk to me, Buck."

Bucky's shoulders pull together towards his neck; his right hand reaches to fiddle with his uneven hair. After fingering his hair for a bit, it drops to the table, palm down, dangerously close to Steve's. With his eyes fixated on the close proximity of both their hands, Steve's finger twitches, "James." 

"It was just so bad. So real." Bucky starts pouring the details out: "Hydra had me. They caught me right after I walked away from the Helicarrier. They told me you had died and that they were taking care of the rest. Meaning Sam, Natalia, me. They tortured me and told me how worthless," Bucky's voice broke; tears that started clouded his eyes begin to drop. He swallows, "Uh they said how worthless and deceitful I was. They were trying to decide the best way to ruin me without just killing me. No, killing me would end the suffering. They, they wanted to prolong the suffering." Bucky forces and ironic laugh as he wipes the tears off his face. Again, his hand falls next to Steve's.

"They talked about blinding me so I couldn’t ever defend or offend. They talked of removing my metal arm. It was all so real, too. And they described how you died and that they had actually finished off and how they did it. They said they...saying that." He breaks. 

Steve isn't sure when exactly he did it, but he found himself grasping Bucky's hand, brushing his thumb across the other man's knuckles. He let's Bucky cry for as long as he needs to, letting him know he doesn't have to finish telling the dream if he doesn't want to. Bucky looks out the diner window, the natural light forcing his tear stricken face to gleam. He sighs. 

"I left because I needed to feel real. I needed to walk the streets to convince myself they weren't coming after me. I needed to remember. Why I came back to Brooklyn.”

"Then I," he forces a laugh again, "I tried to get my haircut. Feel real. Feel the hair irritate my skin and feel the comb pull my hair. But then she. Her scissors touched my neck. I couldn't deal with it. The sharp cold metal..."

"Bucky."

"What it'd feel like before they..."

"James," Steve squeezed Bucky's hand. 

"What?" Bucky stares at Steve, tears streaming over lips pressed together. 

"I'm here." Steve brushes his thumb over Bucky’s knuckles again. He doesn't say anything more; in the moment he didn't need to. There were no words that would help. All he could do was to try and stop Bucky from leading himself into a breakdown. It was better for him to comfort in silence. And although Steve squeezed Bucky's hand, neither of the two ever acknowledged that it was happening. When the waitress eventually showed up with their food, Steve immediately let go, smiling shyly at the waitress, who smiled back. 

Bucky stared down at his food as Steve dug into his. He picked up a fry and slowly pushed it into his mouth, taking small bites. Eventually he began eating quite quickly, finishing his food before Steve did. As Bucky wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, Steve quietly hands him a napkin. 

_ Here. _

Bucky uses it, even though he had already wiped most of the mess away. Steve smiles, sipping his drink. 

“How did you know?” Bucky asks suddenly.

“How did I know what?”

“That that’s how I like my food.”

Steve shrugs, “I just remember that’s how you used to like it.”

“Oh, okay.” Bucky sits on his hands, “Thanks.”

“Don’t worry about it, James.”

Bucky fidgets in his seat. He mumbles.

“Did you say somethin’, Buck?” Steve leans forward.

“Yeah can I…” Bucky trails off.

“Just say it, pal.”

“Can I have more to eat?”

Steve smiles as he gladly gives Bucky the rest of his food.

* * *

“If I should die tonight

May I first just say I’m sorry

For I, 

Never felt like anybody

I am a man of many hats although

I never mastered anything.

 

When I am ten feet tall

I’ve never felt much smaller, 

Since the fall

Nobody seems to know my name

So don’t leave me to sleep all alone,

May we stay lost on our way home?”

* * *

 

After eating, Steve leads Bucky to the nearest barber shop to fix the mess made with his hair. Steve sat behind Bucky just so that he could see him in the mirror, as to keep him relaxed. In a short time, Bucky’s hair was trimmed neatly to its former look that Steve fondly remembered. Bucky gently touched his hair with his flesh hand, staring at himself. Steve silently paid the barber and tipped him extra, then he guided Bucky back outside. 

“Do you like it?” He asks.

Bucky shakes his head a bit, “Yeah, it’s not shrouding me anymore. I can actually see.” He scans the perimeter around them.

“You wanna go to an art store with me? I wanted to get some--”

“Yes! Sorry, I mean I remember what you needed. You lead the way.”

* * *

After stopping quick at a hobby shop nearby, Steve carries a plastic bag with a new sketchbook, a set of pencils more on the B scale, kneaded eraser, and a nice sharpener. Bucky kept asking him what kind of art he was going to make and why he wasn’t buying more. Steve calmly kept telling him he wasn’t sure yet and would draw something when he had an idea. But he fought a smile the entire time for he remembered when Bucky did this when the two were younger. He didn’t think Bucky purposely behaved the same; he believed this was just his personality behaving the way his brain programmed him to do, before the washing.

Since they were all the way in Brooklyn, Steve thought they could just walk back, passing through familiar streets and buildings. He was still surprised there was some of the same architecture; he hoped maybe it would help Bucky remember. That and Steve felt the bittersweet feeling of nostalgia which he found he craved a lot recently. It was more bitter when he passed an alley he got beat up in. But then it was sweet when he had found Bucky in the same alleyway. The place Bucky had come and rescued him. 

“How are you feeling, Bucky?” Steve asked suddenly.

“Okay now. I like being here. Feels familiar.”

“It does?” Steve asked hopefully.

“Yeah, it’s why I came all the way here. I was sort of on autopilot and found my way here. I miss this place.”

“Me, too. I wanted to find a place here but it’s so damn expensive nowadays.” 

“Yeah still not really used to that,” Bucky laughed a bit, scratching his neck, “It’s so different here now.” 

“I know, it takes time.”

“No one knows who I am anymore. They all think I’m a murderer. They think I’m a villain.” 

“Don’t worry about them,” Steve tried.

“Can’t really ignore it when most of the world wished I was dead.”

“Buck--” Steve started.

“Forget it,” Bucky waved his hand, “Just bein’ dramatic.”

Steve sighed, wishing he could take Bucky’s hand again. He couldn’t help but smile at that moment. Even if neither of them said anything, he still got to grasp Bucky’s hand, feeling the surprisingly soft skin of his hand and the roughness of scarred knuckles.

“Do we have to go home now?” Bucky asked.

Steve shrugged, “No, not if you don’t want to.”

“Can we just go sit somewhere a while? I just feel cooped up lately.”

“Sure, pal. Whatever you want. Do you care where we sit?”

Bucky shrugged; Steve grinned.

 

The day was beginning to dim when they reached Central Park. Steve led Bucky to a bench beneath some trees to sit in silence.

* * *

“Try not to mistake what you have with what you hate,

It could leave, it could leave, come the morning.

Celebrate the night,

It’s the fall before the climb

Shall we sing, shall we sing, ‘til the morning?

 

If I fall forward,

You fall flat.

And if the sun should lift me up,

Would you come back?”

* * *

 

Upon their return to the Towers, Bucky rubbed the back of his head, his fingers lightly tugging on the short hair.

“Hey so, um,” Steve stopped and turned to Bucky, “Maybe you shouldn’t be alone tonight.”

Bucky stared for a moment, “Uh, I mean yeah. It would probably be good if someone stayed with me.”

“We could ask Nat or--”

“Just stay with me Steve.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” Bucky shrugged, and smiled a little, “Usually do anyway, so…”

“Yeah, sure Buck,” Steve smiled and let Bucky walk ahead of him. They reached the Towers and made their way up to Bucky’s room. It was well into the night and the two were exhausted. Steve set down the bags of art supplies by the door. Bucky immediately stripped to his boxers. As he pulled his shirt over his head Steve looked at all the scars marking his best friend. He took a deep breath and looked away. He pulled off his own shirt. He glanced down at his jeans.

“Um one sec,” Steve ran to his bedroom and changed into sweats. Coming back in, he found Bucky on his bed, lying on top of the covers. 

“Hey you should draw me somethin.’”

Steve smiles, “Oh yeah?”

James shrugs, “Yeah. Draw me somethin’ cool.”

“Something cool, huh?” Steve asks, bending out and extracting the sketchbook and pencils from the bags by the door. 

“Yeah. Draw me.”

Steve thumbs the sketchbook, “Alright, but you gotta stay still for a while.”

Bucky puts his arms behind his head and shrugs, “Fine by me.”

Steve moves a chair in the room to the side of the bed. He opens to the first page and uses a light pencil to begin sketches. As he keeps studying Bucky he finds that every so often Bucky makes eye contact. He feels a jolt of excitement and awkwardness each time it happens. However the Captain becomes engrossed in the drawing that he doesn’t even notice when the Sergeant has fallen asleep. Steve puts the pencil behind his ear and holds the drawing out in front of him. He smiles at what he’s already gotten done. 

Closing the sketch book, he leans it against the chair and takes the pencil from behind his ear. He stares at Bucky, who is fast asleep. Steve feels a rush of emotion as he stares. His eyes wander to Bucky’s boxers and his body tenses. His cheeks flush red and he gets a little hard. Steve takes a deep breath through the nose and squeezes his eyes shut.

“I have to tell him,” he whispers to himself, “I have to.”

* * *

“It’s getting late

And I

Cannot seem to find my way home tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY FIRST THINGS FIRST: I AM SO SORRY FOR THIS OBSCENELY LONG HIATUS.   
> I have no excuse other than being a dumpy trash baby.  
> Thank you SO SO MUCH to everyone that has stuck with me through this ridiculously hiatus.  
> You're all beautiful and your comments encouraging me to continue mean the world to me. ;-;
> 
> Just know I will not give up on this fic! At least not before it gets smutty. ;)  
> I also want you to know I hadn't forgotten about this fic the last two years, I was working on others ones: the one shot I have posted on this account plus another one shot that's only about halfway done. 
> 
> The future holds many Stucky feels and I hope ya'll will stick around for 'em.
> 
> Please keep commenting! Your words mean everything to me. <3
> 
> [Song: C'mon by Panic! At the Disco feat. Fun.]

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this! Please leave a comment or something if you'd like me to continue!


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